Atherton Hall: A Sequel to Jane Eyre
by Lexwing
Summary: The first five years of Jane and Edward's marriage.
1. Chapter 1

Atherton Hall: The First Five Years

A Sequel to Jane Eyre

Ch. 1

_And so, dear reader, I married him._

Mr. Rochester and I happily spent the first year of our marriage at Ferndean. Although the house was gloomy as ever, and company far off, we were so wrapped in wedded bliss and in one another that we scarcely noticed. As winter settled upon us, and I brought Adele home from that wretched school, my master and I remained content, although the size of the house meant that privacy was occasionally lacking, and the advent of cold weather revealed that the fireplaces in both the parlor and the dining room smoked.

I was busy and happier than I had ever been before. My dear Edward, although he continued to improve both in health and in temperament, needed me to be his eyes. There was no aspect of his business in which I was not engaged. I wrote his letters, arranged his meetings, and corresponded with booksellers all over Europe as my husband was determined to rebuild his library, though he would not be able to read it. Then there was the household business to attend to: even though Ferndean was a far smaller house than Thornfield had been, meals needed arranging, bedrooms, airing; and our two servants, Maria and John, constantly wanted my direction on all matters. In the new year I wrote to Mrs. Fairfax, asking her to return to us as our housekeeper. When she agreed I will confess I was as glad to meet with her again for her own sake as I was grateful for her help.

Adele, of course, remained as hungry for my attention as ever. She had emerged from her short time at school chastened and a bit fretful; it pained me to see it, and I lavished as much love and affection on her as I could spare from my master. It should hardly surprise you, reader, when I write that the first year of my married life sped by in this agreeable manner.

As the first year gave way to the second it became clear that a move was warranted. Edward and I had tolerated the small rooms and smoky fireplaces with equanimity, but when unusually heavy August rains flooded the kitchen and cellar not once but twice we decided to find a new situation.

Together he and I had worked out a list of our requirements for a new house.

"So, Janet," he had asked as I sat upon his knee, as I often did in the evening when we were alone. "What sort of a house should you like, hmm? Shall I write and see if Versailles is available for your use?"

"Anything dry and above ground should do, sir," I had said tartly, listening to the rain drumming on the window. "Maria is quite put out that pots and pans keep floating away."

He had laughed aloud, something I am glad to say he now did far more frequently. "Very well. A dry kitchen. What else?"

"Hmm. A garden, I think." Ferndean was so deeply ensconced in woods that very little sun reached it, and neither Maria nor I had been able to encourage much to grow. "Not just a kitchen garden, but some flowers, too. Adele would like that."

"Which reminds me—add a well sized nursery for the brat to the list," he had said good-naturedly. "She is too much underfoot here."

"A suite of rooms, Edward. Adele is now too old for a nursery."

"A suite of rooms _and_ a nursery, then. For any more brats that should some along."

He had tugged my ear fondly as he said this. I had not yet any signs of having conceived a child, but if I did not soon it would not be for lack of opportunity.

"Well, now, Jane, have I made you blush with that last statement?" He had asked with a grin. I was often surprised at how well Edward could read the expression on my countenance, though he could no longer see it.

To cover my blush I had shaken my head. "Let us not speak of babies, not at present. You shall need a library, for all your new books. And a study, for meetings and letter writing."

But Edward's mind had refused to leave certain topics.

"And a fine large bedroom. Perhaps with a southern exposure, so we can enjoy the view when we are not otherwise engaged."

"Mr. Rochester, if you continued on in this way I shall leave you until your mind is engaged upon more respectable matters," I had chided. I had even made as if to remove from him. So of course he seized me by the waist and held me fast.

"Very well, very well, I promise to speak of only drawing rooms and draperies for the rest of the evening if it suits you, my dear one. But you should not blame a fellow for yielding occasionally to temptation!"

We had gone on in such a way for another quarter of an hour. But finally we had assembled a respectable list. It was duly sent to his solicitors and to those of handful of his former acquaintance with whom he was still on good terms. Inquiries were made, and descriptions of likely prospects vetted. Most were rejected at once as being too far away. The Thornfield house itself was still a ruin, and neither Edward nor I yet had any heart or spirit for the monumental task of rebuilding it. But we did not want to forget the many families that made their living from its land either.

When we had settled on a likely place our Thornfield agent visited it, and, following his favorable report, Edward and I made the journey ourselves.

It was a fine September day when we visited Atherton Hall for the first time. It had the advantage of being no more than thirty miles from Ferndean, still in –shire, which would help Edward continue to manage his estates. This portion of the county was a bit more wild than that which surrounded Thornfield, with rolling hills and more trees, but the villages and farms the carriage passed seemed prosperous and busy with the harvest.

Atherton Hall, we had been told, had belonged to a very old family thereabouts, but the last Lord Atherton had died without heirs years before. The house and its lands were now under the management of the family's solicitors, and were to let for any period desired. It had, I understood, been shut up for some time. In his letters the local estate agent had seemed most anxious for Edward and I to take the place so there would again be a settled family in the neighborhood.

As the carriage drove up Atherton Hall's drive I leaned my head out the window and described the place to my master.

"It is a fair prospect, Edward. A long tree-lined drive ends before a stout, square brick house. The fields on either side are dotted with haywains, and there is a pleasant looking grove of trees to the west."

"Tell me more about the house itself."

"We are approaching it now. The drive turns around before a large front door, painted white. There are columns on either side and a portico above. The trim of the many windows is painted white as well. I should say the house is Georgian because it has a delightfully symmetrical appearance, and the red brick is now mellowed with age."

As I spoke the carriage rolled to a stop, and a tall, thin man stepped forward from the portico to great us.

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Rochester, I presume. You are just on time! I am Mr. Canby, the estate agent."

I stepped down from the carriage first, so that John could then help down my husband.

"We are very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," I told him. "Your correspondence has been most welcome. I hope the letters full of details we requested were not too tiresome."

I watched Mr. Canby as he took in my husband's ravaged face and missing hand, but to his credit the man did not flitch or glance away as most do. My master still did not enjoy going out much in public near Ferndean, where all knew how he had received his injuries and were wont to regard him with either pity or scorn. But I had been gradually expanding his social circle, including a long visit from my cousins, Diana and Mary Rivers. They had treated him with kindness and respect, as he had them. I was hopeful that if we took this place as our new home we would find enjoyable company nearby.

"Of course not, Mrs. Rochester. It is only natural you should want to know as much about the place as possible before venturing a visit." He and my husband shook hands, and the agent led us into the front hall.

I held Edward's arm in my own, and as we walked I described what I was seeing.

"It is a lovely center hall, Edward, with a black and white marble floor and doors on either side."

"Those would be the drawing room, parlor, and dining room, ma'am," Canby put in.

"Just so. And there is a wide curving staircase to the upper levels."

"Humpf," Edward said, clearly unimpressed. "When was the place built, Canby?"

"1799, sir, by the late Lord Atherton."

"Ah, Georgian, indeed," Edward murmured in my ear.

"An architect was brought up from London for the job, sir, and many people once regarded Atherton Hall as the most comfortable house in this part of –shire, sir."

The estate agent led us through the rooms on the first floor. The furnishings were all shrouded in sheets, and the place did have a closed-up air. But the rooms were spacious and well proportioned, the fireplaces large and (as Canby assured me) in excellent working condition. There was even a library with its shelves of books standing forlorn.

"Lord Atherton's will did not allow for house and furnishing to be separated," Canby said a trifle apologetically as I took in a room so crowded with books that some sat still in piles on the carpet. "He was rather fond of his books, as you see. But, of course, I am sure you and Mr. Rochester may have all this cleaned out in a trice and do with the space what you will. I understand, for example, that Mrs. Willoughby of –shire has had her library turned into a card room, and I am told it is most comfortable for house parties."

Edward, who had been thumbing the leather spines on one shelf, turned his face towards me with an expression of amusement. I knew he was inwardly laughing at the idea of surrendering such a fine library to suit fashionable tastes. But I refused to join in. Instead I told Canby very politely, "Oh, no, sir, Mr. Rochester and I are very fond of books, indeed."

We continued our tour by ascending to the second floor.

"So it was known to be a very comfortable house, was it?" Edward asked the agent. "I had heard it called such before. But I had never visited it."

"Yes, well, I am afraid that with the late Lord Atherton an invalid for the last twenty years of his life he tolerated few visitors to the place."

We stopped before a window on the upper landing. As Canby had mentioned in his letters, there was a walled rose garden below, with a larger open garden surrounding it. There was even a smaller kitchen garden set near the rear door. I knew at once Adele would love the roses.

"Now, there are as I wrote seven bedrooms on this floor." Canby opened each door in turn, so that I could see the bedrooms were all airy and well furnished.

"This is the largest of them, Lord Atherton's own suite." At the far end of the corridor the estate agent threw open a set of double doors, and lead us in. It was decorated in colors fashionable two decades ago, but accommodated a large four-poster bed and several dressers.

"There is a dressing room on either side," Canby told us. "And there's a fine view from those large windows there."

I paused before them, and Edward with me. I could just make out the spire of a church in the distance. "Is that the village?" I asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Dovecote, it is called. Only a few hundred souls, but kind, honest people. The church there dates back to the days of Henry VII."

"It is a lovely view, Edward," I whispered to my husband. "The windows are arched and let the sunlight pour in."

"I know—I can feel it upon my face," he told me. Then he raised his voice a bit. "Is this a south facing prospect, do you know, Canby?" He smiled at me wolfishly.

"Edward!" I said, a trifle louder than I had intended to. "Hush!"

The poor estate agent only looked confused. "Ah, I believe so, Mr. Rochester. The house was designed specifically to complement its southern prospect. There is even a conservatory to take advantage of the full sun. I shall take you there next."

"Imagine that, Janet," my master whispered in my ear as we followed a few paces behind. "A whole house designed with southern views in mind!"

"I am going to stop speaking to you now, Edward," I said primly.

We descended the rear staircase, pausing only for Canby to point out a narrower flight that ascended to the servants' rooms on the third floor. Then, as promised, he took us to the conservatory. It was made of iron and glass and attached to the rear of the house off of the lady's parlour. The air inside was unseasonably warm and it was filled with pot after pot of exotic looking plants. Many had begun to grow untamed in jungle tangles toward the ceiling, an effect which to own the truth I rather liked. I could see myself sketching here on cold winter days, with Edward at my side and Adele at my feet.

"It is rather overgrown, to be sure," Canby admitted, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief. "But, again, it could all be cleared away…" he trailed off forlornly. I believe the poor man was forming the impression that we did not care for the place, so I hastened to correct him.

"It is a delightful room, Mr. Canby. Sitting here one might almost imagine one were in India."

Edward made a sound that was half-laugh, half-scoff. He knew I was needling him in return for his comments upstairs. He cleared his throat.

"Well now, sir, the only thing remaining on my wife's list is a garden. Do be so good to show us that now."

At this expression of interest the agent's face grew animated again. "Of course, of course. And a find garden it is. As fine as any in –shire."

The gardens were duly visited, Edward and Mr. Canby shook hands, and Edward promised to write with our decision on the place within the week.

As the carriage rolled away my master smiled at me.

"So, Jane, would it suit you?"

I retied the ribbons on my bonnet. "I might better ask if it would suit you, Edward. You would be living here as well."

"Quite so."

"And would it suit Adele? Mrs. Fairfax? John and…"

"Enough, my dearest." He looked at me with his most ferocious expression. "I did not ask about _them_. Would it suit _you_?"

I smiled. "Yes, my husband. I believe it would suit me very well."

And so, early in the second year of my marriage, Mr. Rochester and I came into possession of Atherton Hall.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2

Shortly after Michaelmas Edward, I, and the entire Ferndean household relocated to Atherton Hall, near Dovecote, --shire. It was not as arduous a task as I had originally feared, because most of the fitting and furnishings were left at Ferndean for future use. Mrs. Fairfax and I were able to arrange it so that we only had to take three carriages and four wagons full of our personal belongings on the move. Fortunately, although the October weather had turned blustery, the roads were dry and we made a comfortable journey.

Adele was so excited at the prospect of a new situation that she bounced up and down on the carriage cushions until I was obliged to remove her to Mrs. Fairfax's coach lest Edward lose completely that day's good humour. But other than that we arrived safely and none the worse for our journey.

I will spare you the great upheaval of the next few days, reader. If you yourself have ever moved house you know well the veritable avalanche of boxes and packing paper that ensues; the commotion as household members decide where they will sleep and arrange quarters to satisfaction; the difficulty of having an army of painters and paperers underfoot as all the rest goes on. Mr. Canby had arranged for the hiring of several more servants from surrounding villages to help, and training them properly kept Mrs. Fairfax on her toes. But within a fortnight both Mrs. Fairfax and I could declare ourselves satisfied, for the time being. Maria was delighted with her new kitchen, which had modern conveniences undreamt of at Ferndean, and John pronounced the coach house and stables first rate, though the latter was a bit short of horses at the present.

Every morning I bundled up Adele and sent her out to play in the gardens. She protested at first, wanting to stay by my side, but a mere look from my master was usually enough to move her. I firmly believe that it did Adele no end of good to run and walk about on the gravel paths with the cool wind on her face, even if the only roses to be seen this time of year were those on her cheeks. She always came in cheerful and with a hearty appetite. Edward continued to grumble about sending her to a new school, but this would of course have to wait until I had time to find the right one.

Adele had recently passed her tenth birthday, and was showing every sign of developing into a sensible English woman. She still occasionally lapsed into French out of habit, and she still took perhaps more time with her morning toilette than was strictly necessary, but her loving nature made up for any deficiencies. I was determined that no school should damage that precious spirit. Nor did I want to send her someplace that would encourage only vain feminine accomplishments, and produce a woman who cared only for herself and her own pleasures. Did I think of Blanche Ingram when I pondered thus? Perhaps.

Edward and I delighted in organizing Atherton's library. He directed me in carefully cataloging each book before finding a proper place for it on the shelves. Often I would crow so over the discovery of an old and forgotten friend that Edward would insist I pause and read to him for awhile. Many an agreeable afternoon was spent in this manner after we had together attended to household and estate business.

Those first few weeks we heard but little from our new neighbors. The curate in charge of the local parish sent us a very kind note inviting us to Sunday services as soon as we were settled. The mistress of a family named White some five miles off (Mr. White, Mr. Canby informed us, was the local magistrate) also wrote to welcome us and to propose tea as soon as I liked. I could tell from the tone of the letter this Mrs. White was not certain if my master would be interested in such things, or able to attend if he were.

I sounded him out about it one evening after supper.

He laughed. "Dear Jane, I hardly brought you here to keep you cloistered up like a nun. Certainly you should go and visit this Mrs. White. Or invite her here, if you wish. Sadly, she is unlikely to be a sensible woman. Few country folk are—you, my love, are shaking you head at me, I can tell, but I have seen more of the world than you and that is the truth of it. But she may be a pleasant enough neighbor."

In truth I had little experience meeting strangers, and my apprehension at so doing was such that I wrote back to Mrs. White and kindly put her off for a few more weeks. I will confess I was also wondering what news of us was already abroad. No doubt Canby or the new servants had told those they knew about my husband's injuries. Dovecote was a small town. It was also entirely possible that the tale of what had passed at Thornfield had already reached this part of the county. Although I was too happy in my new life to care about the approbations of others, I was not entirely sure how either Edward or I should be received.

But on the first day of November, the first fine day in a week of gloomy ones, Mrs. Fairfax came into the study where Edward and I were writing our daily round of letters. 

"Beg your pardon, sir, ma'am, but there are two young men who have come. They say they are from a nearby place called Lansdowne Manor, and they've brought flowers for you, Mrs. Rochester."

Edward tilted his head a bit, something he often did when listening to someone speak. He had told me it made him feel as if he could see them better, although of course he saw nothing. "I did not hear a carriage."

"No, sir, they road up together on one horse. Shall I bring the flowers up to you, ma'am?"

"Indeed," Edward interjected before I could speak. "And bring them both into the drawing room, if you please. My wife is of a mind to meet new neighbors, and this is as good a start as any."

"Very well, sir."

As Mrs. Fairfax left the room, I turned to my husband. "Edward, what are you about?"

"I am in a peculiar temper this day, my dear Jane, and I wish to be amused. Perhaps these visitors will provide some diversion."

I was not so certain, but I took my husband's arm and led him into the drawing room. He took his usual chair by the fire, with the damaged side of his face turned away from the door. I stood with my hands folded before me, and a moment later the door opened.

"Master Chauncey Wheeler and Master Caleb Spencer to see Mr. and Mrs. Rochester," Mrs. Fairfax said grandly.

In came two young men—although in truth one was barely yet a man, and the other no more than five or six by his appearance. The older boy approached me and handed me a fine bouquet, made of golden mums, asters, and daisies.

"How do you do, Mrs. Rochester?" He said politely and with a slight bow. "I am Chauncey Wheeler, of Lansdowne Manor, just over the hill there." He pointed out the window in a vaguely westerly direction. "I have been commissioned by my sister, Mrs. Spencer, to bring these to you. They are among the last from her hothouse, and she thought you would like to have them, though she herself is indisposed at the moment." He took a breath after that rather long speech, and I seized the moment to observe him.

Although yet too young to grow whiskers, he was already taller than I. He had a fine face and a gentlemanly appearance and manner.

I accepted the flowers. "They are lovely, thank you." I turned my eyes to the youngest of the pair, who had hung back a few paces, closer to Mrs. Fairfax. "And this is…?"

Young Wheeler gestured the smaller boy forward impatiently. "This is Caleb Spencer. He is my nephew, and he insisted on accompanying me on this errand. Go on, Caleb," he urged. "Make your bow to Mr. and Mrs. Rochester."

The child did so, quite neatly, and offered, "Hullo."

"'Hello' to you, young man." My husband spoke for the first time. "You both rode here?"

"Yes, sir," Mr. Wheeler answered. "This may be the last fine day for riding until the spring. It's only a mile or two across the fields to get here. A bit longer, if you take the roads."

As the men in the room discussed the state of the local roads and the distances from place to place I handed the bouquet to Mrs. Fairfax. She departed with it in search of a proper vase.

Not to be left out of the conversation taking place, Master Caleb offered up his own opinion to me. "We took Chauncey's horse." He spoke in a piping little voice. "I do not have a horse of my own. Papa says I am too little yet."

As this point our tête-à-tête was interrupted by the barking of Pilot, who, roused from napping on the stairs, had nosed through the open door looking for his master. The large dog bounded up to the small boy, but I am glad to say Master Caleb acquitted himself heroically—he even knelt down to allow Pilot to lick his face.

"Dogs like me," he explained in his queer little way as he stroked the animal's fur. Pilot wagged his tail enthusiastically at the attention.

"I am sorry to hear your sister is indisposed," I offered to Master Chauncey.

"It is nothing serious. But my brother Spencer is away on the North Sea, and not expected home until after Christmas."

"Your sister's husband is in the Navy, then?" My master asked.

"Yes, sir. " The young man's slight chest seemed to swell a bit with pride. "My own people are seafarers as well, for generations back."

Edward had folded his hands on his knee. "And you have such aspirations for yourself as well, do you not?"

The boy's pale eyebrows rose a bit, but he smiled. "Indeed I do, sir. But my brother Spencer and my own brothers have agreed that I must stay here until I am sixteen. Then I shall be sent out to one of them and, if the life suits me, and I daresay it will, if I wish when I am eighteen my brothers will assist me in purchasing a commission in the Royal Navy."

"And how old are you now?"

"But fourteen, sir."

"Ah."

There was silence in the room for a moment, but not an uncomfortable one. It was broken when Master Caleb finally rose from Pilot's side and asked if there were any little boys or girls in the household.

Edward laughed, and Master Chauncey hastily shushed his nephew, but Caleb was not to be gainsaid.

"There might be, you know," he corrected his uncle. "They might be in the nursery." He turned serious eyes, the color of a cup of morning chocolate, to me. "I have a new baby brother at home and he is always in the nursery."

This made Edward laugh harder, and Chauncey blush, but I laid a hand on top of the Caleb's downy head.

"There is indeed, a little girl, named Adele. She is at her lessons presently but I am sure you shall meet her soon."

"Is she old enough to play?"

I suppose I should have found the child impertinent, but in fact his frank manners charmed me. "She is just ten."

"That is old," he observed. "And a girl is not so good a playmate as a boy would be. But I imagine she will do."

"Well said, Mr. Spencer, well said," my master told him.

Master Chauncey cleared this throat. "Caleb, that is enough." To us he added, "I do apologize. He is so little that he does not know how to behave on a social call. We should probably be going. My sister made me promise we would not make a nuisance of ourselves."

"Nonsense. Both your presences are most diverting," Edward corrected him. "You may stay as long as you like."

"I am sure they are expected home soon, sir," I corrected my husband gently. To Chauncey, who still looked a trifle embarrassed, I said. "Please tell your sister we were most glad she sent you and your nephew. We are heartily glad to meet with such kind people so near to us."

The young man's cheeks turned as red as apples. "Thank you, ma'am."

I rang the bell, and Mrs. Fairfax and Pilot escorted both uncle and nephew out of the room. I watched from the window as John brought their horse, a fine brown mare. He then helped Master Caleb mount up behind his uncle. As the unlikely pair trotted away down the lane I turned back to my husband.

"So there are two of our new neighbors. And are you amused, my dear Edward?"

"I am indeed, Jane." He patted the footstool in front of him. "Now tell me all about them."

I sat and did as he bade.

"Master Chauncey is a fine looking boy, already quite tall for his age. He has a quantity of fair hair that rather hangs in his eyes, and bright blue eyes. I am afraid his cravat was a bit crooked. But I daresay in a few more years he will quite a handsome young man indeed."

"And the little jester?"

"Small and round and sturdy, like a proper boy should be. His hair is also fair, but in a riot of curls around his sunny little face. He has a wide rosy mouth that smiled near the whole time he was in the room."

"Cherubic?" Edward suggested.

"Hardly. One knee was stained with what looked like berry juice, and his freckles lend him a decidedly mischievous air."

"Good. I cannot bear a boy that is better than he ought to be. And I like his manners."

"Of course you do. They are rather like your own. But I am sure he shall be a fine playmate for Adele."

Edward nudged me with his boot. "Perhaps some boyish enthusiasm may take the last of that French fussiness out of her. And you know, even Master Chauncey may tolerate having her about."

(I shall confess to you now, reader, because you may be curious, that although Edward and I could not have known it at the time, Chauncey Wheeler would in nine years time become Adele's husband. But that is a story I shall relate another time.)

"Perhaps. I shall write to Mrs. Spencer this afternoon and thank her kindly for sending them."

Edward laid a hand on my head for a brief moment, then rose. "A good plan, I should think. And I am glad to see that there may be some sensible people in the neighborhood after all, even if they are all under the age of eighteen."


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3

I did indeed write to Mrs. Spencer that afternoon, and the next morning in the post received back a very pretty reply thanking Mr. Rochester and I for our kindness to her brother and son. She suggested I come for a visit the Saturday next.

Since I knew from young Caleb's gaff that her indisposition was not from illness but from having a very young infant at home, I felt safe in agreeing. Clearly the acquaintance should be cultivated, if only so Edward would have a constant source of amusement. But I confess I myself felt a great curiosity to visit Lansdowne Manor, and to meet with Mrs. Spencer.

My only reluctance was in leaving Edward alone. But he insisted in no uncertain terms that he could look after himself until I returned. So when Saturday afternoon arrived I put on one of my newer dresses, a soft grey flannel with fashionable bell sleeves, and set out in the carriage.

It was a curious thing to be alone after so many months with either Edward or Adele or both constantly at my side. I was a trifle apprehensive at making this call by myself, but steeled my resolve by reminding myself that I was no longer Jane Eyre, governess, but Jane Rochester, the mistress of my own life.

We had not been traveling long when Lansdowne came into view. I absorbed as many details as I could so I would have them to share with my master when I returned home. It was a curious looking place. Mrs. Fairfax, who had made some discreet inquires of her own, had informed me that Lansdowne was the oldest building in this part of the county. The central portion of the house dated back to the War of the Roses. Indeed it was a long, low, rambling structure, only two stories high in most sections, made of heavy timber and plastered a rich ochre color. Chimney pots dotted the rooflines in an almost random pattern, and the windows were all made of thick, diamond shaped panes that gleamed in the sun. Attached to one side was what looked like a slightly newer wing, a bit taller, straighter, and statelier than the rest of the house.

As the carriage rattled on I reflected on what else Mrs. Fairfax had learned. Captain Spencer of the Royal Navy was the younger son of an old and noble family. His elder brother was the present Earl of Strathclyde, and had a great estate some hundred miles to the north. Captain Spencer had come into possession of Lansdowne through his mother's side of the family, but until he married had spent very little time there. Mrs. Spencer was well regarded in Dovecote as being a lively, respectable lady, and talented at the piano forte. Before her most recent lying-in she had also taught the local Sunday school. I had great hopes that we would take to one another and become friends or, if we did not, that we could still move amicably in the same circles.

John halted before a front door made of dark wood. It was wide and thick and studded with brass nails. No doubt it had stood in place for centuries. As he helped me descend that door opened, and a plump little women with hair the color of raw cotton appeared.

"You'll be Mrs. Rochester, I expect," she greeted me in the broad accents of –shire. "I am Mrs. Pargeter, the housekeeper.

When I agreed that I was indeed Mrs. Rochester, she led me into the house. The entry was rather narrow and a bit cramped, nothing like Atherton Hall, but it was snug and well-lit. It ended in a crooked staircase, and from somewhere above I could hear childish voices. I followed Mrs. Pargeter though the right-hand door, and found myself in a large room, open to the second floor. In ancient days I suppose this must have been the Great Hall, where lords and ladies drank mead and threw bones to the dogs. Indeed, the hearth at one end was large enough to accommodate a horse and the carriage besides. But now the walls were hung with pretty framed pastels, and furnishing had been grouped to make the space less overwhelming.

A woman rose from one of the settees as we entered, and smiled at me as I approached. She was older than I, perhaps thirty or near to it. Like her brother she was tall, with the same blond hair and blue eyes. She was a handsome woman, her beauty marred only by a narrow scar along her hairline, partially concealed by an artful arrangement of curls. She wore a simple dress of blue Marino wool with a lace collar.

"Mrs. Spencer, here is Mrs. Rochester come to see you," the housekeeper announced.

"Thank you, Mrs. Pargeter. Would you be so kind as to bring in the tea when I ring?"

"Of course, ma'am." She dropped a quick curtsey, and then left the room.

"Do be seated, Mrs. Rochester. I hope your journey was pleasant."

I sat down, and nodded. "Yes, very pleasant. I had not seen much of the country hereabouts. My husband and I only visited Atherton Hall once before deciding to take it."

"That I do not blame you for," she smiled. "It is a fine house, or so my husband tells me. He knew it in its heyday, many years ago."

"This seems a very comfortable house as well."

"It is, although as you can imagine when my husband first brought me here I was rather at a loss about this room." She gestured at the space around us. "There was already a ballroom in the New Wing (that peculiar addition to the side—I am sure you saw it as you arrived). And so this became a sort of chimera: part parlour, part drawing room, and part playroom for the boys."

"You have made it most comfortable," I told her honestly. We chatted amicably about our homes, the local parish, and other nothings for awhile, and then she rang for tea.

Over china cups and plates of warm scones she told me about her husband, Captain Patrick Spencer. As Chauncey Wheeler had mentioned the Captain was not expected home until after Christmas. For my part I told Mrs. Spencer about Edward and Adele, or at least such about them as was appropriate for a new acquaintance.

"And you have a brother living with you, of course. Master Chauncey. That must be a great comfort," I offered.

"Indeed, although _he_ does not always regard it as such."

"And do you have more brothers?"

Mrs. Spencer laughed merrily. "I do indeed. Five more of them."

"Five?" I could not even imagine such richness of family. Until I had met the Rivers and married Edward I had been quite alone in the world.

"Yes, although we are scattered across the globe now, I am afraid. My father, you see, spent near his whole life at sea, first in the Navy, and then as captain of his own merchantman. My mother came from a shipbuilding family in America. They frequently moved us between different parts of the world, as business required. Two brothers—Graham and Gideon—are back in the United States learning shipbuilding from my mother's people. But the other three now live in port cities all over the world."

I sipped my tea. "How extraordinary. My husband, Edward, traveled a great deal before we were married, but I have never left England. Where have you been?"

"Oh, many places. I was born in America; my twin brother, Kinsey, and I, are the second born in our family. But after that we lived in, hmm, Bermuda, for a time, and Gibraltar, and Portsmouth here in England, and in the East Indies. That is where Chauncey was born. And of course in between we visited other places."

"And Master Chauncey is determined to go back to sea?" I asked.

"Of course. It is in his blood. Chauncey is not used to being land-locked, so to speak. He did not come here until I married Captain Spencer, and I am afraid life with my brothers offered him rather more freedom than I do."

"He seemed a very well-mannered boy."

"Oh, do not mistake me, my dear Mrs. Rochester. He is as good a boy as ever lived. But in Dovecote there is little for a restless soul to do, and when my husband is at sea (as he has been for some months now) Chauncey rather wants for a steady male influence."

"Indeed." In truth I had never thought much about how important a man's role might be in the proper upbringing of a child, particularly a boy-child. I did not really remember my Uncle Reed, and my own pupils had always been girls. But had not Edward himself hinted as much in his few bitter words about his father and elder brother? How much grief Edward might have been spared had his father or brother taken pains to see him well and happy instead of using him for their own ends!

"Until my husband returns," Mrs. Spencer continued, "I am both sister, brother, and tutor for Chauncey, and mother and father to both of my sons. I will confess it rather overwhelms me at times."

I was relieved to hear another woman echoing sentiments so near to my own. "Yes, I feel much the same way about Adele. She is also a dear child, but there do not seem to be enough hours in the day. My husband wants her sent back to school as soon as may be."

"If it is a good school you need, Mrs. Rochester, I might suggest you speak to Mrs. White, the wife of our local magistrate."

"I have heard of her."

"Mrs. White has raised three daughters, the youngest just now seventeen. All are sensible, healthy girls, and I know all were educated away from home."

"I am most grateful for the suggestion," I said honestly. "I have not yet met the Whites but I hope to soon."

We were interrupted by a knock on the door. Mrs. Spencer bade them to come in.

A sturdy girl of twenty or so entered the room with a baby in her arms. Master Caleb trailed close behind.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am, but Master Caleb would not settle down to his tea until he had seen Mrs. Rochester," she said apologetically.

Mrs. Spencer rose. "That is quite all right, Katie." She reached out and took the infant into one arm, and Caleb's hand with another. "Go along now and have your own tea. The boys may stay here for a time, if Mrs. Rochester would not object?"

"No, indeed."

And so the nursemaid was dismissed, and Caleb sat down next to me on the settee. "Hello," he offered with a winning smile. "I am glad to see you again."

"And I you, Caleb."

His mother meanwhile had been arranging her infant son in her lap. "And you have not met this one before," she said to me. "This is Caleb's brother, Nicholas."

I saw a very pretty infant with an abundance of hair half-covered with a tiny bonnet. It was sleeping, and Mrs. Spencer asked if I should like to hold him. I admitted I would, and was duly given the child.

I had never held a child that young before, and Mrs. Spencer had to show me how to crook my arm just so to support the soft bundle. But I adjusted to the featherweight of the child in a moment, and it soon opened it eyes (dark eyes, like Caleb's) to stare myopically up at me.

"How old is he?" I asked, admiring the tiny, grasping hands with their miniature fingernails, and the silken skin of its smooth forehead.

"Just six weeks," Mrs. Spencer told me, taking Caleb onto her lap and giving him a current bun.

"He is a very fine boy," I told her truthfully. My students at Lowood had been several years old before they arrived, and I knew of no one else with an infant. How truly delightful it was to breath in its scent, and listen to its soft coos.

We sat thusly for another hour, talking and finishing our tea, until Nicholas began to fuss and I realized it was nearing five o'clock. I had been away from Edward too long, and my heart ached to see him again.

I reluctantly surrendered the infant back to his mother, who was kind enough to accompany me back to the carriage.

As John handed me up Mrs. Spencer asked if she should see myself and Mr. Rochester in Dovecote Church the next day.

"I do not mean to pry, of course," she added hastily, "only to tell you that Nicholas is to be christened tomorrow. I had wanted to wait for his father to return, but I've put it off overlong as it is."

"In that case, we shall do out best to be able to attend," I said truthfully as the carriage door closed.

"I would like that. And Mr. and Mrs. White, you know, are standing up as his godparents, so you would be able to meet them, as well as our parson, Mr. Bunting."

"I will speak to my husband," I promised.

As John and I headed home I felt well-satisfied with my morning's visit. I was full of sights and sounds to relate to Edward, and I looked forward to correcting his comment about neighbors. I had found yet another sensible one, this one over the age of eighteen.


	4. Chapter 4

Ch. 4

I was able to attend young Nicholas Spencer's christening the next day, reader, although I am sorry to report that I did so with Adele, and not Edward, at my side.

After I had returned to Atherton Hall that Saturday and given my master a full report of manor and mistress, I informed him of Mrs. Spencer's kind invitation, and my desire to accept it.

He thought it over for a moment, but shook his head.

"You may go if you like, Jane, but I shall not."

I sat down next to him. "Must I go alone?"

"Take Adele if you want for company. I shall stay here, and you may tell me all about it when you return."

I took his hand—his remaining hand—in my own.

"Mrs. Spencer is a kind and, I believe, well-bred lady. I should like very much to be friends with her."

He turned his face, with his sweet, sightless eye, towards me. "Did I say you could not be?"

"I do not like you staying shut up here," I told him. "It reminds me too much of when I found you at Ferndean."

He sighed, and pulled me onto his knee. "My sweet Jane, it is nothing of the kind. I am most happy and contented here."

"Then why not go?"

"Because I am not ready. You forget, Jane, you were already in love with me when you saw me after the fire. But even you must admit my appearance remains rather shocking."

I ran my hand down the scar on his forehead, and his left eye, closed forever.

"The scar is fading, Edward. With your hair combed and in your bottle green jacket you look as handsome as ever."

He snorted. "As I say, you are biased, my dear one."

"Edward…"

He removed me from his lap and stood. "I will not give way, Janet. I give you my word I will meet the rest of our neighbors in due course, and allow them to meet me. But not tomorrow. That is my last word on the subject."

I opened my mouth to respond, but quickly thought the better of it. If there was one thing I had learned about my Edward it was that his stubbornness ran deep. The harder I tugged at him, the more he dug in, until we inevitably found ourselves at an impasse. I had not the heart to wound him with an argument.

"All right. I will take Adele, and I will give Mrs. Spencer your regrets."

¶

In spite of my master's absence I was not unhappy on Sunday. Dovecote Church was, as I had heard, an old building, not very large but with tolerably comfortable pews. The parson, a Mr. Bunting, was well into middle age, but gave his sermon in a fine, ringing voice. His mind clearly lacked the brilliance of my cousin St. John Rivers', but he spoke lovingly of our Lord and his teachings. The parishioners listened to him with what appeared to be genuine interest in spite of the chill in the air.

After the sermon Mrs. Spencer, with Caleb at her side and her infant again in her arms, was called to the font. Mr. and Mrs. White, Nicholas' new godparents, were also called, and I saw before me a stout, gray-haired couple with kind faces. I watched with the rest of the congregation as Nicholas Edmund Spencer was welcomed into His flock. Afterwards Adele and I waited outside the church door for my new acquaintance.

"Mrs. Rochester, I am glad to see you again." Mrs. Spencer hailed me as her small family exited. Caleb and some of the other children ran past us into the frosty churchyard. "I saw you in the pew behind us but did not have a chance to greet you before. And this," she smiled at my companion, "must be Adele."

"Hello, madam," Adele offered with a curtsey. I had had some difficulty that morning convincing Adele that her pink silk dress was both too light for the weather and inappropriate for a christening. I thought she looked quite dear in a simple lavender one with her fur caplet around her shoulders. Although I knew Adele herself remained unhappy with her attire, when Mrs. Spencer nodded approvingly at her it seemed to cheer her a bit.

"Adele, this is Mrs. Spencer," I explained to my former pupil. "I am sorry my husband was unable to attend this morning," I told Mrs. Spencer.

"Do not trouble yourself a whit, Mrs. Rochester. I realize it was terribly short notice." As they emerged from the church Mrs. Spencer summoned the Whites, and we were duly introduced.

"So glad to make your acquaintance at last," Mrs. White told me, the many feathers on her overdressed bonnet quivering in the breeze. "We must have that cup of tea together soon."

"Yes, of course."

"And what do you think of our little church, Mrs. Rochester?" Mr. White asked me in a booming voice. He was a large man with heavy side-whiskers and a red nose, the very picture of a country magistrate.

"It is a charming building."

"A trifle cold this time of year, eh, what?" He chuckled. "But that is of little account compared to the value of our immortal souls, eh?"

"Indeed, sir." Adele had begun to shuffle her feet with impatience or, I feared, another of her urges to dance. I laid a quelling hand on her shoulder and she soon stood still.

"Do you sew, Mrs. Rochester?" Mrs. White asked me.

I was a bit taken aback by the sudden new subject, but I nodded. "Yes, a little."

"Oh, splendid." She exchanged a glance with Mrs. Spencer. "My dear Mrs. Spencer has been helping to fill the church's poor box for Christmas—there is always such a need for warm clothes this time of year. I am afraid my eyes are not what they once were so I can be of little help. Perhaps you would…?"

She trailed off expectantly.

"Of course. I shall be happy to help however I may."

"Splendid, splendid," Mr. White puffed, echoing his wife. "Now I think we should all get out of this cold and into a warm house. Mrs. Spencer is bringing my new godson to our home for the afternoon—perhaps you and the child would care to accompany us? You might meet our daughters."

"Thank you kindly, sir, but I must return to my husband."

"Allow me to walk with you to your carriage, Mrs. Rochester." The infant Nicholas was handed to his godmother, and Mrs. Spencer took my arm and Adele's hand as we walked back down the churchyard path.

"You must excuse Mrs. White's presumption. She takes her charity work most seriously. If you do not have the time…"

"Not at all. I shall be happy to serve the parish."

"Good." She smiled widely. "In that case, come and sit with me this week, if you please. We might sew together. Many hands make light work. And bring Adele—she may like to play with the boys."

"Oh, yes, Madame!" Adele turned imploring eyes on me and squeezed my hand. "I want to see Lansdowne!"

I hushed Adele, but agreed to send word to Mrs. Spencer when I found a day that would at once suit her and myself.

"She is a very kind lady," Adele enthused as we traveled homeward. "Mrs. White had rather an absurd bonnet on, no? Like a gateau. And I like the church very much. It is not so grand as the ones in Paris…"

"Not _as_ grand," I corrected absently.

"But it is very sweet. Monsieur Rochester will like it too, I think."

I smoothed her dark hair. "I hope so, Adele. I do hope so." 

¶

Over the next month I traveled to Lansdowne Manor once and sometimes twice a week. Mrs. Spencer and I sat amicably together in her parlour. We sewed felt scarves and knitted woolen mittens for the Dovecote Church poor box. We discussed books we had read, and places we had seen or (in my own case) wished to see. Nicholas was often brought down from the nursery, and I cuddled him while Mrs. Spencer tended to Caleb's or Chauncey's schoolwork. As I had promised I did bring Adele on several visits, and she and Caleb always played contentedly with Caleb's dolls in front of the fire.

One bitterly cold day shortly before Christmas I was humming softly to Nicholas as he dozed in my arms. In the few weeks I had known him he had already grown larger and plumper, and he now smiled brightly whenever he saw me. I was thinking to myself how much I should like a baby of my own, and wondering if God should ever see fit to bless Edward and I with one, when we heard a carriage drawing up outside.

Caleb rose from his place on the floor (Adele had stayed home that day with a slight cold) and ran over to the window to see.

"I do hope that is not Mrs. White with another bundle," Mrs. Spencer confessed as she knotted off a thread. "We are just about done with these, and I daresay our efforts have already outfitted half the county."

I laughed. "Just so." Nicholas started a bit when I spoke, but I quickly hushed his soft whimper. "Is it Mrs. White, Caleb?"

"No. I know her carriage." The child propped up his elbows on the windowsill. "Her horses are black. These are brown."

"Come away from the window before you catch cold," his mother told him absently as she folded a garment.

"I will. I just want to see—it's Papa! Mama, Papa is home!"

Mrs. Spencer dropped her needle. "That is not possible, Caleb. He is not due home for another fortnight." Nonetheless she stood and rushed over to the window. I rose carefully, trying not to disturb my precious bundle, and reached her side in time to see a tall man in a blue naval uniform descend from the carriage.

"It _is_ Papa! It is! Hurrah!" Caleb whopped and rushed for the door.

"Oh, my." Mrs. Spencer said a trifle breathlessly. She pulled off her apron and frantically smoothed the curls away from her face. "Oh, my."

I touched her arm gently. "You look fine. Go and greet your husband."

I followed her to the hall in time to see the door open and Caleb leap upon his father. Mrs. Pargeter arrived from the kitchen, and Chauncey from the schoolroom above. There was a great deal of laughing and crying, and Mrs. Spencer flung her arms about her husband.

"Oh, why did you not tell me you were returning early!" She cried. "Nothing is ready, and you will have had such a long, cold trip…"

"Hush, my dear." The Captain placed his hands against her face and kissed her soundly. "Now, Caleb, up off the floor with you. Chauncey, come and shake hands with me—there's a lad. Mrs. Pargeter, you look spry as always."

"Welcome home, Captain," said the beaming housekeeper. "I'll have your trunks brought in at once."

"Come into the parlour, my dear, where it is warm," urged his wife.

He did so, with his family still gathered about him, chattering, and for the first time he noticed me.

"Oh, how terribly rude of me," Mrs. Spencer blushed. "My dear Mrs. Rochester, this is my husband, Captain Spencer."

"I am pleased to meet you." He offered me his hand, and I shook it. It was callused but warm and friendly.

"Mrs. Rochester and her husband have taken Atherton Hall," Mrs. Spencer explained. "They are excellent neighbors."

"I am glad to hear that," the Captain smiled. He espied the infant in my arms, and glanced at his lady wife. "And is that the newest edition?"

Mrs. Spencer positively glowed with pride. "It is."

"Well, then, let us have a good look at him." The Captain lifted the child from my arms with more ease than I would have expected from a man. He carried him closer to the window where the light was better, and studied the infant's features for a moment. He then pronounced his judgment.

"Bless me, he does have my father's firm chin. I must say, my dear, I had rather hoped this one would look more like his dear mother. But he seems hale and hearty enough. I approve."

"Yes, we rather like him," Mrs. Spencer said. I could tell from the tone of their voices that she and her husband were teasing one another.

"Tell us all about the North Sea," Chauncey demanded. At the same time Caleb asked if his father had brought him any presents. Mrs. Pargeter insisted that the Captain take a seat by the fire so she could bring him a hot toddy. I took advantage of the moment to slip from the room.

Near the front door Mrs. Spencer caught me.

"Mrs. Rochester, you are not leaving?"

"Yes, I believe I must. But I shall see you again, after Christmas."

She took my hands in hers, and squeezed them. There was a sheen of tears in her blue eyes.

"I am most happy," she told me.

I pressed her hands. "I know."

She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. "Have a merry Christmas, Mrs. Rochester."

"And the same to you."

I will confess there were tears in my own eyes on the journey back to Atherton Hall. It moved me deeply to see my new friend so happy, and her affectionate gesture made me love her all the more. For someone like Mrs. Spencer, used to being surrounded by family, I am sure it seemed a minor thing indeed. But for me that small kiss endeared her to me forever.

Upon my return home I sought out my master in his library. He was comfortably ensconced in a chair by the fire, with Pilot at his feet and a glass of Madeira at his side.

"What, Jane, back so early?" He said at hearing my entrance. (Edward said he could instantly tell it was I who entered a room by the lightness of my tread.) "Did you and Mrs. Spencer finally tire of winding yarn and sewing buttons? Or did you do as so many other fashionable ladies and give up the poor as a lost cause?"

"No, indeed." I reached up and removed my bonnet. "My early departure had a happier cause. Captain Spencer has returned home."

"Has he indeed? And did you meet the fellow?"

"Only briefly, but he seems a most gentleman-like man." I perused that day's letters to look for any needing my prompt attention, until Edward grew impatient and gestured for me to continue my story.

"The Captain is tall, like his wife, but as dark as she is fair. His skin is tanned as brown as a nut and there are wrinkles around his eyes from the sun. I would not call him handsome, exactly, but he is pleasant-looking enough. He has Caleb's dark eyes, curls, and wide mouth. He spoke to me kindly but he does have a grave and commanding air, which I would imagine is not unusual in naval men. Mrs. Spencer, as you can imagine, was most heartily glad to see him, as were Caleb and Chauncey."

"I imagine the little devils were besides themselves."

"Caleb was so excited to see him he held onto him by the boots the whole time."

Edward chuckled. "Then I suppose I am no longer to be able to complain about our spell of cold weather, Janet. It must seem positively balmy here compared with the open sea this time of year."

"Were you ever at sea during the winter, Edward?"

"A wise traveler tries not to be if it can be avoided. But I did once have a most miserable journey between Hamburg and Copenhagen…" He shuddered slightly at the recollection. "And the worst of it was I did not have my Jane to keep me warm."

I cleared my throat to conceal my blushes. "I daresay His Majesty's Navy does not offer a choice in assignments, cold weather or no."

"I daresay. Poor devils." Edward laughed again. "So I am to have my Jane home again, at last. And have you knitted me a scarf as well while at Lansdowne?"

I rapped him gently on the shoulder. "You are not poor, Edward. But if you want a scarf I will make you one now."

"Good." He smirked good-naturedly. "I cannot abide the thought of facing the good people of Dovecote without a shining example of my wife's charity about my own neck."

"Or perhaps I will have Adele do so," I continued on. "For she needs a great deal more practice…"

"Hush, wife. I want a scarf from your own two small hands, or I'll know the reason why."

I nodded, smiling. "As you wish, Mr. Rochester."


	5. Chapter 5

Ch. 5

For our first Christmas at Atherton Hall I made sure our home suited the spirit of the season. I directed the servants in laying evergreen boughs on all the mantles. More greenery tied with red ribbons festooned the staircase banisters. Fresh beeswax candles and holly berries gave the house a festive air, as did the smell of baking that wafting from the kitchen. Maria and Mrs. Fairfax produced platters of fruitcakes and biscuits and mince pies. Some of these delicacies, as well as some simple gifts, made up the Christmas box we sent up to my dearest Mary and Diana at Moor House.

Adele became nearly frantic with anticipation as the holiday approached. Filled with high spirits she danced and sang and tried her best to find her presents, which I had carefully hidden.

Mrs. Fairfax left to visit her sister, and Edward gave the servants Christmas Day and Boxing Day off to visit their own families. He tried to do the same for John and Maria, but John insisted they would stay at Atherton with us.

"And where should we go, then, mum?" He asked me a bit indignantly when the subject was first proposed. ""Tis only Maria and myself, 'n all, and what if you or Master Edward should need us? No, indeed. We'll stay here and there's an end to it."

So Maria prepared a fine dinner of roast goose with chestnut stuffing, and Adele had her presents to open and exclaim over. There was a new dress, of course, this one white with a red sash. But I had also made certain there were books and a new watercolour kit for her edification.

On our first Christmas together, at Ferndean, Edward and I had vowed not to buy one another any presents. We had agreed we were too contented to need them. But this year Edward bent the rules a bit by giving me a golden brooch. The letters "J" and "E" had been engraved upon it.

"It is not from me," he insisted when I protested the extravagance. "It is from Adele."

Adele nodded and smiled and watched me so expectantly that I had had no choice but to thank her profusely and give her a kiss.

"What, Adele gets a kiss, and I do not?" My master demanded.

"The gift giver always receives the kiss, sir," I told him silkily. But later, in private, I gave him his kiss.

"It was an unnecessary gift, Edward, but most kind," I told him.

"I wanted something special for my Janet. Adele did help choose it, you know—we slipped off to Dovecote one morning while you were at Mrs. Spencer's. And Adele was the one who insisted on the engraving, for her former 'Miss Eyre.'"

"I imagine the letters do stand for 'Jane Eyre.' But if you do not mind I would prefer to think of them as 'Jane' and 'Edward.'"

I could tell this response pleased him. "As you like, my dear."

"But next year we return to our rules," I insisted. "No gifts. And," I added as he began to protest, "no arguments."

"You are a stubborn woman, Janet," he sighed.

In addition to our family celebration, I also had letters and small gifts from my cousins. I read both letters aloud to Edward after Adele had gone to bed. The one from Mary was relatively short, speaking of local news and of a planned visit from one of St. John's friends from Cambridge. This gentleman, also a clergyman, was to join them for Christmas dinner and cheer them a bit in St. John's absence.

Diana's letter was longer, and rather more interesting. Diana spoke more of this visitor, a Mr. Wharton. Evidently he and the two Rivers sisters had met before, not long before old Mr. Rivers had passed. Diana believed that he had, at that time, begun to form an attachment to Mary, but that his own parish's business had taken him away too soon for that attachment to blossom. Now, however, Diana told me, she would endeavor to keep Mr. Wharton at Moor House as long as it took to secure Mary's future happiness.

"My, what an artful snare your cousin lays for this fellow on her sister's behalf," Edward laughed. "I wonder if he has any idea of what is about to befall him? Not that your Maria would not make any man a fine wife," he amended hastily when I nudged him in the ribs.

"Diana must believe this Mr. Wharton's intentions are serious. She should be loath to part with Maria for any other reason. I daresay it will break her heart to lose her sister, even if it is to the bonds of matrimony."

"Now, Jane, if matrimony agrees with Maria so well as it agrees with you, Diana will have much to rejoice over."

"Did I say it agreed with me?" I told him, a little saucily.

His dark eyebrows arched in surprise and, I thought, pleasure, at my challenge.

"Wicked changeling!" he told me. "Ungrateful! Give me my present back!"

I quickly swept the pin off my breast and into a pocket. "No, indeed, sir. It is mine, as you are mine, and you shall not have it back."

¶

Several more days passed in this pleasant manner. The day before the New Year Edward and I were sitting in the drawing room before a roaring fire. The weather had taken a sharper turn, and such a blaze was necessary to chase away the cold. Adele was lying on her stomach nearby reading one of her Christmas books. When the morning post was brought to us I was puzzled to see one that had been posted from Lansdowne, but addressed to Edward.

"I do not recognize the hand," I told my husband. "It is not Mrs. Spencer's. It is rather more masculine."

Edward bade me open it, and read it to him.

"'My dear sir,'" I read. "'It is a tradition hereabouts to celebrate the New Year with neighbors and a bowl of hot punch. Since I am returned in time I am determined I shall play this year's host. I write to invite you, Mrs. Rochester, and your ward to Lansdowne Manor tomorrow at any time convenient for just such a gathering. Please excuse the informality of this invitation, but the familiarity of our respective wives leads me to feel I am not overstepping the bounds of propriety. Respectfully yours, Captain P. Spencer.'"

Adele, who had been over listening our conversation, sat up and clapped her hands. "Alors! I shall have a reason to wear my new frock! Will not the Spencer's think me pretty?"

I allowed Adele's comment to pass for the moment. Instead I watched Edward's face for some signal of his opinion. But his dark visage remained inscrutable.

"It is a very kind invitation, Edward," I told him. "Captain Spencer does not offend you with it, does he?"

"No, of course not. It is a perfectly amiable letter."

I nodded. "Then you are thinking of the people who will be there. I have met them, Edward—or most of them, for I am sure the Whites shall be there as well as the Spencers. They would all be most gratified to meet you at last. I have told them so much about you."

Edward laughed, but I was not sure if it was one of bitterness or humour. "Have you, Janet?"

"I have indeed. What better occasion for meeting them then a celebration of a new beginning? And if you find it tedious, we need not stay long."

He was silent again for a long moment, but then sighed. "Very well, Jane. I shall not disappoint you. But do not expect me to perform to strangers. You know I do not excel at it."

I kissed his face. "No, you never did. And I am certain they shall love you as I do."

¶

The next day we arrived at Lansdowne at noon. There was a faint scattering of snow on the ground and the air was so cold we could see our breaths. As at Atherton, evergreen branches had been laid over the Manor's front door, giving the place a jaunty holiday air.

There was only one other carriage at Lansdowne when we arrived. I suspected from the black horses stamping their feet before it that it belonged to the White's.

Before we entered I paused to over look my little family. Edward wore the bottle green coat I had chosen for him that morning, and Adele looked fine in her new Christmas dress. I took Edward's arm and we were admitted.

"Good afternoon, sir, ma'am," Mrs. Pargeter greeted us. "A happy New Year to you both. The Captain and Mrs. Spencer are in the parlour." She took our wrappings and led us into the old Great Hall.

The furnishings had been rearranged to accommodate the party. Where Mrs. Spencer and I had sat and sewn was now placed a sideboard. It had been furnished forth with cold chicken and cheeses, cakes, and the promised bowl of hot wine punch. The settee and several chairs had been moved and grouped together for conversation. Caleb and Chauncey were seated at a table before the window, intently focused on some sort of game.

Mrs. Spencer came forward at once to great us.

"Mr. and Mrs. Rochester—Adele—I am so glad you could all join us."

Edward stood straight and tall, but kept my arm folded within his own. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Spencer," Edward told her. He extended his good hand in greeting. "A happy New Year to you and yours."

"And to you, sir." They shook hands. The dear lady was too kind to allow any change of expression at Edward's injuries to touch her face. "Do come and meet my husband."

She led us past the other people in the room to where her husband sat, next to the hearth. There was a merry blaze in it, and another chair already drawn up beside. Captain Spencer, now in a brown coat instead of his naval uniform, rose in greeting.

"Mr. Rochester, how do you do. Mrs. Rochester, so pleasant to see you once again."

The two men shook hands, Edward again offering his first to ease any awkwardness.

"Mr. Rochester, do come and join me by the fire," the Captain said. "I have been home near two weeks and I confess I still cannot bake the cold out of my bones."

When Edward nodded slightly I helped him to be seated. My master concealed his discomfort with the situation well, but I knew he could feel the eyes of the room's other occupants upon him.

"Well, now, who else is here that you have not met?" Captain Spencer continued. "Ah, the Whites, of course."

The Captain gestured to them, and that couple came forward and greeted us. Although Mrs. White blanched slightly at the sight of Edward's wounded visage, Mr. White welcomed my husband to the neighborhood in his affable, booming voice.

"And these are their three daughters: Miss White, Miss Georgiana White, and Miss Louisa White."

Three young women, virtually indistinguishable from one another with their fair hair and pastel dresses, bowed and smiled.

"Chauncey and Caleb you have already met, and, oh, of course, Miss Bunting."

This was a lady I had not noticed before, one so pale and thin she seemed almost to disappear against her chair by the door. She had a rather hard set about her mouth, but inclined her head slightly in greeting.

"Miss Bunting keeps house for her brother, the Reverend Bunting," Mrs. Spencer informed me softly. "He is out visiting his parishioners but should be joining us later."

Adele had been standing somewhat to one side waiting for the adults to acknowledge her. Mrs. Spencer did so by laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Adele, perhaps you would like to join Chauncey and Caleb at the table. They are playing a new pasteboard game Caleb received for Christmas. I am sure you would enjoy it, too."

"Thank you, Madame." Adele fluffed her skirts and hurried off to join the other children. Gradually the White family drifted back towards Miss Bunting, leaving only Edward, the Spencers, and myself by the hearth.

His duties as host done, Captain Spencer sat back down in his own chair.

"My dear, I find I am rather parched. Would you be so good as to fetch a cup of punch for me?" He asked his wife.

"Of course. Mrs. Rochester, do accompany me to the sideboard and see if there is anything you or Mr. Rochester might care for."

I looked at my husband, and after a moment he inclined his head slightly, signaling I should go.

I followed Mrs. Spencer. Mrs. Pargeter, who had been standing by, poured us several glasses of punch. I took a sip of mine, and found it to be strong and well spiced, but not unpleasant. I was too anxious for Edward's sake to want any food.

"Are you expecting many more people?" I asked my hostess.

"Oh, people may come and go. Families in the neighborhood often make the rounds of a New Year. The Langs and the Weatherbys were here earlier—I am sorry you did not have a chance to meet them. But I think this is just about the right number. Captain Spencer and I prefer an intimate gathering whenever possible. It is so hard to find stimulating conversation and comfort in a great crush of people. No one can hear or be heard."

I murmured my agreement, but in truth I was watching my husband for any signs of discomfort. I am glad to report that he and the Captain were speaking in low tones, and Edward appeared neither bored nor unhappy. Mrs. Spencer and I returned to them with the glasses.

"She's a frigate," the Captain was telling my husband. "Yankee built. Stout lines. Built to take a pounding but with the wind in her canvas she can still make better time than ships half her size."

Seeing my puzzled expression as I placed a cup of punch in Edward's hand, the Captain laughed.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Rochester, I speak of my ship, the H.M.S. _Hastings_. Your husband was good enough to inquire about her."

"Always a dangerous topic, Mr. Rochester," the Captain's wife cautioned. "Once begun upon the subject of ships it is very difficult for Captain Spencer to _stop_ speaking of them."

My husband chuckled slightly. I do not know if it was the fire, the Captain's companionship, or the punch, but his temper seemed to be warming a bit. We exchanged pleasantries with the Spencers for a few minutes longer, and finally Edward gestured to me.

"Jane, my dear, go and make certain Adele is not making a nuisance of herself," he told me. "She is getting as loud as Caleb."

I glanced over at the window. The two golden heads and Adele's dark one were bent over their game. They seemed to be enjoying it thoroughly, if their excited chatter was any indication. But I understood what Edward really meant by the statement was that it was safe to leave his side if I wished.

I wanted to allow my master the opportunity to speak as freely with Captain Spencer as he might wish, so I did as he had bade. Mrs. White and one of her daughters promptly intercepted me. I believe it was the middle one, Georgiana.

"So good so see you again, Mrs. Rochester, and looking so well," Mrs. White told me. She glanced over at Edward. "And so good to finally meet Mr. Rochester at last. My, he and the Captain seem to have quickly found something to discuss! Well, that is men for you."

"Indeed."

Her daughter spoke up for the first time. "Mama and I wanted to thank you for all the work you and Mrs. Spencer did. She had my sisters and I sewing our fingers off, but without your assistance I do not believe we should have finished on time!"

"You are too kind," I told her. I began to feel a bit more interest in the Misses White as I recollected what Mrs. Spencer had told me on the day of our first visit.

"Are any of your daughters still at school, Mrs. White?"

"No, Mrs. Rochester. All have finished now. And heartily glad I am to have all my girls home again! I suppose it may be different with sons, but a mother always misses her daughters most acutely when they are absent."

"Hmm. Do you mind, Mrs. White, if I inquire as to where your daughters attended school?"

"Oh, of course you may, my dear lady. Come and sit down by Miss Bunting and my other girls."

We did, and she proceeded to explain that her two eldest daughters had been educated at the Grange, a respectable young ladies' seminary in the village of Heatherton, from which I understood she herself hailed. My heart sank a bit, however, as she told me this was some seventy-five miles from Dovecote.

"My youngest daughter, however, attended a different school, as I was in ill health at the time and could not bear to have her so far from me."

"And what school did Miss Louisa attend?"

"The school of a Mrs. Abbott. She is a most respectable woman, a widow whose husband was a don at Oxford for many years. Her school is not so grand as the Grange, but a good deal nearer. The students live in her home, and she offers instruction in the usual subjects, and the modern languages. The other girls all came from respectable families. I declare, Louisa's needlework improved ten fold under Mrs. Abbott's tutorage!"

"And Mrs. Abbott lives in…?"

She named a mill town I knew to be only some twenty miles off. As this was the first promising school I had heard of, I resolved to write at once to this Mrs. Abbott, and find out as much about the place as I might.

Mrs. Spencer, who had been circulating in the room to make certain everyone's cups and plates were still full, sat down beside me.

"You may like to know, Mrs. Rochester, that our husbands are now on to discussing the Orient," she told me.

"Then it is well I am over here, for I would have little to add."

Miss White asked if I had traveled at all, and I had to confess I had not.

"In my day ladies did not go traveling from pillar to post the way they do now," Miss Bunting sniffed. "It is rather shocking. Unless of course they are traveling with family," she amended hastily, no doubt for her hostess' benefit. "A girl must be well looked after at all times, and that is something only her family may provide. There is no one better to teach her the womanly virtues."

Mrs. White nodded in agreement, but I will confess that I rather wondered why the evidently childless Miss Bunting felt the urge to issue pronouncements on the subject.

Mrs. Spencer seemed amused by the older woman. "By womanly virtues, Miss Bunting, I take you to mean those attributes most important to her future married life? Sewing, and cookery perhaps?"

"Indeed, but I also include a great deal more, Mrs. Spencer. Such as thrift, and modesty, and deportment."

"Oh, yes, of course. But alongside a child's moral development a parent must look to its physical development as well." Mrs. Spencer looked thoughtful. "In fact, I often think that guidance is even more important for daughters as for sons, as young girls will usually find fewer outlets for healthy exertion."

Miss Bunting's upper lip curled a bit. "Exertion, my dear Mrs. Spencer? I am not certain what you mean."

"Oh, running, and playing out of doors, and perhaps climbing the occasional tree."

I laughed, and Mrs. White reached over and patted my hand. "Now, Mrs. Rochester, pray excuse Mrs. Spencer. She often makes the most remarkably progressive statements about child rearing. But then, as yet she has only boys."

"I for one should not like to meet with such a girl as you describe, Mrs. Spencer." Miss Bunting still looked a trifle offended. "Why, she would be almost wild! A proper girl does not engage in boyish antics. Climbing trees, indeed. Most shocking!"

The Misses Whites all tittered, but I hastened to defend my friend.

"Surely there can be no harm in giving a girl the opportunity for health, in whatever form it may take. Good nourishment and proper exercise build strong bodies, and a strong body is the best home for a healthy young mind."

"Well said, Mrs. Rochester," Mrs. Spencer nodded.

"Hmm." Miss Bunting narrowed her eyes upon me. "Mrs. Rochester, I had heard that you were a teacher in your former life?"

I saw no reason to dissemble. "I was, Miss Bunting. And later a governess, for a time."

"There, you see, Mrs. Rochester knows these things from experience," Mrs. Spencer argued. "And look what a fine, healthy child her little Adele is! Surely you would not regard her as boyish, Miss Bunting?"

We all looked over to Adele, with her pretty curls and smiling face.

"No, I supposed not," Miss Bunting admitted.

At that moment I could not have been prouder of Adele if she had been my flesh-and-blood child.

The remainder of the afternoon passed pleasantly. That night as we prepared for bed I told Edward of Miss Buntings' pronouncements.

"If her voice was anything to go by she must look like a gimlet," he told me. "The Captain and I could hear her from across the room."

"Edward, she is a respectable lady, and I understand works most energetically on behalf of Mr. Bunting's parish. But, since you brought it up, she does have rather a critical eye. I shall have to remind Adele to take extra care to behave around her."

"I had rather you tell Miss Bunting to mind her own business. But I know you shall not. You are much too polite to people who do not always deserve your consideration."

I climbed into bed. "Mrs. Spencer agreed with me, in any case, and that was all that mattered."

"She does seem a sensible woman, and her husband is a capital fellow. Seen a great deal of the world, and read widely—I daresay he would give my of friend Eshton a run for his money."

"I am glad you liked him," I said truthfully. "Now we shall not be compelled to give up the acquaintance."

Edward laughed as he climbed in beside me. "You should not have given up any acquaintance that suited you, whether I liked the husband or not. I know you too well, Janet. You would have done as you pleased."

I thought of this for a moment. "Yes, I supposed you are right, Edward. But I am nevertheless glad you like them."

And I blew out the candle.


	6. Chapter 6

Ch. 6

I had told Edward the truth when I said I was glad he liked Captain Spencer well enough to maintain the connection. I knew Edward loved me, and I knew (although he should never have admitted it publicly) he loved Adele, in his own way. But I also knew him to be of a restless mind and searching intellect, and I had long worried the tiny circle of his acquaintance at Ferndean had not been good for him. He could not read his books, or even write his own letters, but he was still more than capable of carrying his share of a conversation when he chose to do so. I was determined to give him that opportunity as often as possible now that we had a wider acquaintance in the neighborhood.

As winter wound on I also pursued the possibility of a school for Adele. I wrote to Mrs. Abbott to obtain particulars about hers, and received a prompt and courteous response. She told me that she currently had eight girls with her, all of good family, ranging in age from ten to sixteen. She included a list of the subjects she taught, and I was pleased to discover that alongside the usual subjects she included both higher mathematics and Latin. She also had a drawing instructor, a Madame Farageaux, who came to the school twice a week. We corresponded several more times back and forth, and she reassured me about such issues as food (the cookery at her home was evidently in the hands of a Welsh woman, who offered plain but nourishing fare, as much as the girls could eat) and books (the basic school books were including in the tuition, but I might of course send along as many more as I liked.)

Edward and I discussed the matter (he had been apprised of every detail as I learned of them) and we decided Adele might attend Mrs. Abbott's school for the spring term, on a trial basis. If it agreed with her, and if Edward and I determined it was doing the child some good, we would be able to consider the matter settled.

Adele, I am sorry to say, was not so pleased with this development as Edward and I were. In fact she greeted it with a torrent of tears, and an insistence that she could learn everything she needed to know at Atherton, without the pain of being torn from those she loved best. As she wept and stamped her feet I will confess that for a moment I was tempted to give in to her cries. But I steeled myself by remembering that Edward and I had agreed together on this course of action, and I would not go against him in this or any other matter. And so Adele was outfitted with a new trunk and a new set of drawing tablets and pencils, and a date was fixed for her departure.

The day before this sad event was to take place, Mrs. Spencer brought Caleb and baby Nicholas to take their leave of Adele. As a parting gift they gave her a very pretty set of embroidered handkerchiefs, and a vow from Caleb that, although Adele was a girl, he should be very happy to play with her when she came back for the summer holidays.

"You will be sad to part with her," Mrs. Spencer observed as we sat a little distant from the children in my drawing room. Caleb and Adele were crawling on the floor and making faces to amuse Nicholas. The infant was now capable of holding up his own head and watching the goings-on in the room from his basket. Nothing gave him greater joy than such entertainment.

"I shall, but she must go to school," I said firmly, determined not to show any sorrow or regret lest it weaken my resolve.

"It will be good for her to have other girls her own age about," Mrs. Spencer nodded. "I only spent a year at school, at Portsmouth, but that is what I enjoyed most about it."

Mrs. Spencer's parents, I had learned, had for the most part educated their children themselves. School was always held in whatever exotic location they had fixed for the moment. With seven children the late Mrs. Wheeler had, I gathered, become something of an expert at educating children, so much so that Mrs. Spencer said it had been not uncommon for neighbor children to join them in their lessons. The Spencers were continuing this tradition in educating Chauncey. Mrs. Spencer provided instruction in history, French, Spanish (she had lived for a time with a brother in Valparaiso) and music, while the Captain taught Chauncey geometry, science, and navigation. In fact Chauncey was absent on this occasion because he was studying for an exam to be administered by his sister upon her return.

"I do not have particularly pleasant memories of my own schooling," I admitted. "But I hope Adele shall. And Edward and I will be close enough, should she need us."

"Of course," Mrs. Spencer soothed. "Now, tell me, what do you think of this proposal of Reverend Bunting's to move the Sunday school into the old cloister?"

I am pleased to report to you, reader, that Edward and I were now regularly attending Dovecote Church. There had been a few anxious moments that first Sunday as the congregation had scrutinized us from behind their hymnals, but we had been accepted into the fold quickly enough. I had of course learned from Miss Bunting at the New Year's gathering that at least part of my life story was abroad. I do not know what the good people of Dovecote made of Edward and I. But whatever their concerns might have been the deacons had nonetheless asked me to assist Mrs. White with the Sunday school until Nicholas Spencer was older and his mother could return to the duty.

"I think it may be rather cold and drafty for the children, at least until summer. Should we perhaps speak to the Reverend about that?"

"Hmm. I should suggest we speak to Miss Bunting, for I feel rather certain it was her idea in the first place. She never liked that I taught the class only in summer and only out of doors."

"Perhaps that arrangement was too Socratic for her tastes," I suggested.

"Yes, perhaps," Mrs. Spencer laughed.

Our amusement was interrupted by the sound of a carriage, and a few moments later Mrs. Fairfax showed Captain Spencer into the room.

"Well met, ladies, well met," he hailed us cheerfully. "You both look a picture sitting there with your heads together." He reached down to pat Caleb on the head, and chuck Nicholas under the chin. "Well my dear," he said to his wife, "you will be glad to know we still have a roof, and Mr. Jenkins says he'll be able to patch it up again if the weather holds."

"I suppose that is some comfort," she sighed. "Mrs. Rochester, you have no idea the havoc those recent storms wrecked at Lansdowne. I do believe there was not a room that did not leak."

Remembering what Edward and I had been through at Ferndean I was able to express my heartfelt sympathy. "But in a place of such a venerable age as Lansdowne I suppose one must expect a few leaks," I offered.

"Exactly so," the Captain nodded. "I have written to the Earl to check my father's records, but I daresay that roof is at least as old as the New Wing; older, perhaps."

(Captain Spencer, I had noticed, seldom referred to the elder Spencer, and, when he did, it was always as "the Earl," not by his Christian name or as "my brother." I had not yet had an opportunity to ask Mrs. Spencer about this, but I suspected there were bad feelings between the two, as there had been between Edward and his own brother. Perhaps that was merely the way of things with men? If that were the case, I fervently hoped Caleb and Nicholas would escape such a curse and always be as sweet to one another as they were now.)

"Did you come all this way to discuss the roof, my dear?" Mrs. Spencer continued.

"No, of course not. I had an express from Mr. White this morning. He asks that I join him at the quarter sessions in – as soon as might be." The Captain fished a letter from his pocket and held it up for our inspection.

"At the quarter sessions?" Mrs. Spencer raised her fair eyebrows. "Whatever for?"

"Oh, do wait just a moment, Captain," I told him, rising from my chair. "Mr. Rochester will want to hear the news."

I went to Edward's study, and finding him just finishing an interview with one of our tenants easily persuaded him to join us in the drawing room.

"What is this about your leaving us?" He asked the Captain as I led him into the room. From there Edward was easily able to find his own way to his chair.

The Captain opened the letter and read it to us. Mr. White, in his role as magistrate, had been called to the quarter sessions to help conduct county business. Part of that business was evidently the issue of the local militia, a matter upon which he wanted Captain Spencer's advice.

"I did not know –shire _had_ a militia," Edward said.

"Not much of one, to hear White's description. I imagine it is a handful of farmers wielding weapons their fathers used to fight Bonaparte." The Captain paused for a moment as Nicholas begun to fuss. He picked the child up out of his basket and held him until he quieted.

Mrs. Spencer looked puzzled. "Forgive me, my dear, but Mr. White does know you are in the Navy, and _not_ the Army, does he not?"

The Captain laughed at his wife's comment. "I had assumed so. And I do not know what sort of help I can be or advice I can give."

"Perhaps he merely wants a military man there to lend any decisions a martial air," my master speculated. "Magistrates are often called on to make pronouncements and decisions on matters about which they know little."

"And shall you go, Captain?" I asked.

The Captain bounced Nicholas a bit in his arms. "I shall. White's been a good friend and neighbor these many years, and if he wants me, I shall go."

Mrs. Spencer sighed resignedly. "It is three days to – and back again."

"I know. But I do not expect it will take more than a day or two to get White and this militia business sorted. All told I should not be gone more than a week, or two at the most."

I studied my friend's face as her husband spoke. I could see the idea of him leaving her did not sit well. But Mrs. Spencer had been too many years a naval wife to protest at every parting.

¶

Our very early breakfast the next day was somber. Adele insisted she was too nervous to eat anything, and I could barely sit still for remembering things that needed to be put into the child's trunks. The next hour flew by, until John and the carriage were in front of the house and the baggage was being strapped.

Edward now insisted I bring Adele to him, to say goodbye. The dear girl looked so miserable it nearly broke my heart, but I kept a comforting hand on her shoulder as we went into the study.

"Now, Jane, is everything ready?" He asked me as we entered.

"Yes, my dear. Mrs. Fairfax has packed you and John a nice lunch," I told Adele.

"You will reach Mrs. Abbott's place sometime this evening," Edward told her, "and she will at once write to us and let us know you have arrived in safety."

Adele's eyes were downcast, but she nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Mrs. Rochester and I expect you to study hard and to listen to Mrs. Abbott," he continued. "As soon as the spring term ends you will come back here to spend the summer."

"Yes, sir."

Edward leaned forward slightly in his chair. I knew he was trying to "see" Adele better.

"Adele," he told her, "when you were last sent away to school I did not take the pains I should have to make certain you were prepared. I had forgotten how difficult it can be to adjust to a new place. That was my fault, and I am sorry for it."

Adele looked quite astonished. Edward had apologized many times to me for various transgressions, but I was quite sure this was the first time he had ever apologized to Adele for anything.

"Now, then, hold out your hand," he told her.

Adele glanced up at me, puzzled, but as I knew not what Edward was about I could give her no response. She did as he bade.

Edward reached into his vest pocket and withdrew something that he pressed into her palm. She opened her hand, and there I saw a gold coin. Adele's eyes grew positively round at the sight of it.

"I suppose every schoolgirl needs to have some pocket money, for pencils and hair ribbons and whatnot. And you will find that the judicious purchase of sweets can do a great deal to win over strangers in the schoolroom," Edward advised.

Adele stood in awe of the riches in her palm. Although my master had always provided well for the child I do not believe she had ever had money of her own before.

I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to remind her of her manners when she flung her arms about his neck, crying, "Merci, Monsieur Rochester! Vous êtes trop généreux!"1

Edward patted her back a little awkwardly before he pulled her away.

"I shall study hard, I promise!" She vowed, this time in English. She looked at me with tears flecking her dark lashes. "I shall!"

"Now, now, no more tears, Adele, or you shall set Mrs. Rochester off," Edward warned her, rising from his chair. "Jane, if you would take my arm, let us see Adele off before the day grows any later."

And so arm in arm we watched John help Adele into the carriage. Mrs. Fairfax and Maria both dabbed at their eyes with their handkerchiefs, but I am proud to say I was able to wave cheerfully at her as she drove away. I knew she would be well. I knew she _was_ well.

¶

Spring came into its full glory. Edward and I remained comfortably settled at Atherton. As the weather warmed we took long walks together in the surrounding countryside, and enjoyed our gardens as they came into bloom. Mrs. Spencer had given me some cuttings from her own gardens, and by April I could describe a riot of colour to Edward as we strolled down the gravel paths.

As delicious as it was to be alone with my husband again I will confess that it did take me some time to adjust to Adele's absence. But I consoled myself with the letters Mrs. Abbott sent detailing her progress. She was doing well with her mathematics and geography. Of course, her fluency in French placed her far ahead of the other students in languages. In fact, Mrs. Abbott often had her help the other girls with their own French lessons. She sent us some fine examples of Adele's needlework and drawings so Edward and I could mark her progress in those matters as well. Of course, all this would not have convinced me had Adele's own letters not gradually given way from complaints to guarded optimism about her school. She had even followed my master's advice and made friends with some of the other girls, so, she wrote, she had plenty of playmates when the girls were not in classes.

Mr. White and Captain Spencer returned from the quarter sessions none the worse for wear, and within the two weeks the Captain had promised. Both now called regularly at the hall to visit with us. Mr. White liked to hear Edward's opinions on various details of estate management and local politics. But though the magistrate was unquestionably a kind and respectable man it was in Captain Spencer my master found his best match in both spirit and intellect. He and Edward often sat for hours speaking of places I had never seen and of events I had only read about in books.

We had by now met a few of the other neighboring families, but none so well suited Edward and I as the Spencers. I never felt a moment's hesitation in leaving the Captain and Edward alone while Mrs. Spencer and I tended the gardens or played with her children. I enjoyed his company as well. As Edward had said, the Captain had a first-rate mind, and his bright and lively conversational style was very like his wife's.

The Spencer family often stayed to tea or for dinner at Atherton. At such times Mrs. Fairfax would look after the two younger boys. Chauncey was usually allowed to remain in the company of the adults. Caleb and Nicholas would be returned to us after dinner when we would all sit companionably together in the drawing room. Caleb and Chauncey, who both were fascinated by all things foreign or exotic, always begged the Captain and my husband to speak of their journeys in turn. They listened to Edward's stories with rapt attention, the way I had often listened to him when we had first met.

On these occasions I often took the opportunity to hold Nicholas. By now he had grown into a roly-poly babe who could sit up on my lap, kick his round arms and legs, and babble happily at me, or at Pilot, or at any and everything in the room.

Although ten years separated us in age, Mrs. Spencer became every day a dearer and dearer friend. She gave me leave to call her by her Christian name (Catherine) and I did the same. In fact I came to trust her so completely that one day as we walked arm in arm in the gardens at Lansdowne I asked her what the village had heard about Edward and I before our arrival.

"Has someone said something unkind to you, Jane?" A worried crease marred her pretty forehead as she spoke.

I quickly reassured her. "No, indeed, everyone has been as kind as can be. Mr. Rochester and I are both most happy here. But ever since Miss Bunting mentioned that I had been a teacher I have wanted to know what else about me is generally known."

"That is understandable, I suppose." Her face lightened. "Well, I was not abroad much at the time, as I was lying-in, but I did hear about your having been employed as a teacher, and as Adele's governess before you married Mr. Rochester. But," she added hastily, "I never heard it said with any malice or concern. Such marriages are not unheard of, after all."

"I fear not all would agreed with you."

"Oh, come now, Jane, many happy marriages have been founded under stranger circumstances." Here she absently ran a gloved hand across the scar along her hairline. "Remind me to tell you someday how the Captain and I met. But you were asking what we here in Dovecote had heard. The only other specific I can recollect was that Mr. Rochester was an invalid who had suffered some sort of terrible injury where he lived before. Although having met him I am not sure 'invalid' is an accurate description."

"He will be pleased to hear that you think thus." Although I never liked to recall that time when I had not been at Edward's side, I continued. "There was a fire, you see. The manor house on his estate was destroyed."

"How terrible! But did he not want to rebuild on the site?"

"Thornfield was…" I did not know how to begin to speak of it. I settled on saying only that my husband had many unhappy memories of the place.

"And by then he and I were married, and needed a roof over our heads right away. We may rebuild someday, I suppose," I added.

"But not soon?" She laughed. "My, that sounded terribly selfish, did it not? But I must confess I would be reluctant to part with your company. I adore my little family, but I do feel rather outnumbered by menfolk at times."

I thought about this for a moment. Catherine was right, of course—she had gone from a household of six brothers to one of a husband, a brother, and two sons.

"Perhaps you will have a daughter as well some day," I suggested, thinking of how close Mrs. White was with her three girls. 

"Oh, perhaps. Although I am glad to have had boys for the first two. I know nothing of raising girls."

"I know only of girls," I confessed. "Until Caleb and Nicholas I had never known any little boys, save my late cousin. He was horrid as a child and I am afraid he did not turn out well as a man."

"Yes, that does happen," she nodded. "Which is why their father and I take such pains with the boys now."

"Captain Spencer is a most loving and affectionate father. I do admire how easy he is around his sons. Few men are so easy."

She laughed. "Few men are willing to learn." When she saw my puzzled expression she continued.

"You see, Jane, when our first child was born the Captain was no more comfortable around him than any man. What opportunity had he ever had to learn? Although I understand my husband's father, the late Earl, to have been an excellent man in all other respects, as far as I can ascertain he never set foot in his own sons' nursery. And by the time a boy is sent into the Navy he is twelve or fourteen—his mind and character are already formed. My husband was comfortable enough around his young midshipmen, but a baby? That was another matter entirely. No, my husband had no experience from which to learn fatherly feeling."

"And how did you overcome his reluctance?"

"Much cajoling and coaxing. And much practice." She laughed again at the memories. "I would insist my husband hold Caleb and then I would walk away so he could not hand the baby back. I gave the same instructions to the nurse. And after awhile, when Patrick finally realized Caleb would not fall to pieces in his arms, he learned to enjoy him well enough. Although I do think he enjoys Caleb more now that he can carry on a conversation."

I was finding all of this most instructive. Even though the end of the second year of our marriage was rapidly approaching I was still hopeful that Edward and I would be similarly blessed. It made my heart ache to see Edward with Chauncey and Caleb at his feet. And it annoyed me that Edward steadfastly refused to have anything to do with baby Nicholas.

"I will have truck with him when he can support his end of the conversation," Edward always said, stubbornly folding his arms while I dandled Nicholas on my knee. "At the moment I cannot see that he and I would have anything to say to one another."

So I was relieved to hear that Captain Spencer had been no more natural with babies when his first one had arrived than Edward was now. I held out hope that in time, and with the Lord's blessing, that would change.

1 "Thank you, Mr. Rochester! You are too generous!"


	7. Chapter 7

Ch. 7

You may be wondering by now, reader, about my cousin Mary, the mysterious Mr. Wharton, and what had come of his visit to Moor House at Christmas.

I will confess that for a time I feared all of Diana's best-laid plans had come to naught. Although in her letters Diana told me that the visit had seemed to confirm Mr. Wharton's feelings towards Mary (evidently the two had taken many long walks across the snowy countryside) she had not yet been able to ascertain if any promises had been made. Mary, Diana wrote, had suddenly become very reticent in all things regarding Mr. Wharton. Nor were Mary's own letters to me any more revealing—she never wrote of Mr. Wharton at all.

It was not until the first day of June that the happy news finally arrived. Mrs. Fairfax and I had put on our oldest dresses and joined Maria and our head gardener, Tom, in the kitchen garden. The warm weather had produced a lush abundance of Brussels sprouts, string beans, and other vegetables that needed to be picked and preserved as soon as possible. Edward had found a place on a bench nearby where he could enjoy the sun and over listen our conversations.

"Beggin' your pardon, mum," John told me as he stepped through the kitchen door. "The afternoon post has come."

I stood up from my work and brushed the dirt from my hands. "Give the post to Mr. Rochester, please, John. And fetch us some more baskets from the cellar. I do believe we will have to send some of this bounty to our neighbors."

He did as I bade, and then went to oblige my request for the baskets. I took off my apron and went to sit with Edward.

"Four letters, Jane," he told me, feeling the stack of paper between his fingers. "Are there any from our Thornfield agent? I want to know if Jones is having any success with that barley he planted in the north field."

I took the letters and sorted through them in my lap. "No, I am afraid not. There is one from Mrs. Lane—it appears to be an invitation."

"Humph," said Edward, who was not a great admirer of this particular neighbor. "Open that one last."

"There is one from your London solicitor, and a note from Mr. White. Oh, and here is one from Mary."

Edward smiled. "I know you will want to read that one first, and I am happy to listen."

I settled down and opened my cousin's letter. I scanned the first few sentences, as I always did before I began to read aloud.

"Oh!" I said, a bit more loudly than I intended, for I alarmed my husband and made Mrs. Fairfax look up from amongst the sprouts.

"What is it, my dear?" Edward asked anxiously. "Not bad news, I trust?"

I hastily waved to Mrs. Fairfax to let her know all was well.

"I am sorry I startled you, my love, but it is good news from Moor House," I told Edward. "Mary and Mr. Wharton are engaged to be married! Diana was right, after all."

I quickly shared the contents with him.

"'My dearest Jane—

Pray forgive the haste with which I write this letter, but I wanted you to be the first, save our dear Diana and Hannah, to hear the news. I am to be married!

I suspect Diana has already apprised you of the fact that Mr. Wharton's visit last Christmas was more than just a simple call from one of St. John's friends. My dear cousin, forgive me for not sharing my feelings with you sooner. Mr. Wharton had been a most kind friend to our family, and I may reveal to you now, Jane, that I began to form an attachment to him when first we met. We exchanged a few letters, but with Father going to his reward, my work, and then St. John's departure for India, I had little heart for romance. In truth, I had begun to suspect I had misinterpreted his feelings for me, and I soon resolved to think of him no more.

But at Christmas when we renewed our acquaintance after two years apart Mr. Wharton—Stephen, is his Christian name—made his continuing regard for me plain. After he returned to his parish we corresponded regularly, and you will understand, I think, why I never shared the contents of those letters with you or Diana.

Our difficulty was not one of overcoming family opposition, for Diana already loves Mr. Wharton as a brother, and I am sure St. John, when he hears of it, will approve the match. But Stephen knew I would be reluctant to leave Diana, and Hannah, and Moor House.

Yesterday he arrived unexpectedly at Moor House with the most blessed of news! The dear man, knowing that the living at Morton remained vacant, had applied for the position and was accepted at once. He came to tell me that I should be able to remain at Moor House as long as I wished, and asked would I consent to do so as his wife? You may only imagine my astonishment and pleasure, Jane! I accepted him at once, and we have fixed on the – of August as the date for our wedding. I write to ask you and Edward to please come and stay with us here for our celebration. Diana and I will write more of the wedding plans soon, yours etc.'"

I finished the letter and paused to catch my breath.

Edward was chuckling. "Well, I give all the credit in the world to your Diana, Jane. It seems she was right after all. Mary is to have her clergyman and Moor House besides."

"I can scarce believe it," I said honestly. "What a remarkable way for things to end. Not only is Mary to be well-settled, but she will not be parted from Diana after all."

"And Morton is a decent living?"

"Decent enough. The church is very pretty, and St. John always said the parsonage was most pleasant, should Mary want to settle there."

My master's features darkened slightly, as they always did when I mentioned St. John Rivers. I fear he still, after all these years, regarded him as a romantic rival instead of as my cousin. I hastily changed the subject.

"Shall we be able to attend, do you think, my dear?"

"Hmm. August, she said? I do not see why not."

"Oh, but Adele shall be returned from school by then!" I suddenly remembered. "She has met Mary and Diana once before, of course. But then," I contemplated, "I would hate to make her undertake a long carriage journey again so soon."

"Janet, there is no point in dragging Adele along to Morton," Edward told me. "She had much better stay here. Or perhaps," he suggested, as I began to protest, "the Spencers would look after her while we are gone. She is a great favorite at Lansdowne, and I am certain Caleb would be more than happy to have her."

I nodded. "Of course. Edward, that is an excellent idea. You think of everything."

"We are agreed, then." He reached over and took my hand in his own. "You and I shall make the trip. We shall find something pretty and impractical for a wedding gift, and you will be able to show me your Moor House. I have long wished to visit the place where you passed your year away from me, and now I shall."

I covered his hand with my own. "Indeed you shall."

¶

I kept my word to Edward. When Adele came home for the summer holidays, happy and healthy, I was able to enjoy her company for several weeks. But as August approached I made arrangements for her to stay with the Spencers, and for Edward and I to journey to Morton.

We arrived at Moor House a week early so that I could assist in the final wedding preparations. As soon as we had exchanged greetings with our family and unpacked our things I took Edward for a walk around the place. I described for him in great detail the low roof, the latticed casements, and the avenue of aged firs that had so enchanted me when I had first arrived. He listened intently, and I am sure he was trying to create a picture of the place in his own mind.

As family we were privileged to stay at the House itself, in my old room, while other wedding guests were to be dispatched to the inn at Morton. It was strange to be in the familiar space again, sleeping in the same bed, but now with Edward at my side. But I was happy.

The day after our arrival Mr. Wharton, who was in the midst of his move to Morton, made a special call upon Edward and myself. Mary's husband-to-be reminded me a great deal of St. John. He was tall and upright of bearing, with a strong handshake and that certain resonance of voice that seemed characteristic of clergymen. He was not as handsome as Mary's brother, but he was well spoken and clearly adored my cousin. I was indeed pleased with the match.

My own wedding had been a private affair, with only Edward, myself, the parson, and the clerk present. I was therefore astonished to see the amount of work one small country wedding seemed to require. Hannah was a veritable whirlwind as she cooked for the wedding luncheon, and once Mr. Wharton's mother and sisters arrived Moor House was bursting at the seams with busy, chattering women. There seemed to be no end to the preparations.

To spare Edward all of this I decided to show him all my old haunts in the neighborhood. We went into Morton so I could show him the church where the ceremony was to take place, and on one especially fine day we walked to my former school.

The building was no longer being used (the former Miss Oliver, Hannah had told me, now had two children of her own and little energy to spare for charitable works) but Edward and I sat on a low stone wall and I described it as it had been, full of eager, energetic children.

Edward had been silent for a long time on this day, and finally I asked him what troubled him.

"I was thinking how near to me you were all that time." He sighed. "I was convinced you had been swallowed up by the earth and yet here you were."

"Your lawyers would not have known I was using another name, Edward." I leaned closer to his side. I could feel the rough texture of his coat through the sleeve of my linen dress. "I would not have permitted you to find me. You know that."

"I know, Jane. I know."

"Edward," I cried, "I did not bring you here to distress you! I wanted to share with you a happy memory of this place. If it makes you sad, we shall leave at once."

"No, Jane," he said, seizing the edge of my skirt as I moved to rise, "it is fine. I am glad to share it with you. I am glad to know that there was some happiness for you here." He laughed a bit. "You had gone back to teaching school. I should have anticipated that. You were ever the teacher."

We were both silent again for a time, contemplating the empty structure.

"Perhaps," Edward began again, "you began teaching here about the same time Thornfield burned. That was, of course, why the search for you did not continue. I was in no fit state to pursue you then."

I studied my husband for a moment, but his scarred face was inscrutable. "You need not speak of that time, Edward, if you do not wish to," I said gently.

"And why should I not? I am daily reminded of it." He gestured to where his left hand had been, to his damaged eye. "When I first awoke in Carter's care--I should rather say when I first came to myself again, for he had been dosing me with laudanum for the pain—the first thing that occurred to me was that I had deserved all of it. That God was punishing me."

"That is a dreadful thing to say, Edward," I said firmly. "He does not work in such ways."

"I know that now, Janet—I am merely sharing with you what I thought at the time. And I concluded that among the many reasons I was being punished (for the list of my transgressions was certainly long, as you yourself know) was for not leaving you in peace when you left Thornfield. As I lay in that bed I promised myself that I would do so, that if you were still alive you would be troubled by me no more. And," here he smiled a bit, "I kept that vow, did I not?"

I linked my arm through his and rested my head on his shoulder. "You certainly did, Mr. Rochester. But it was a lucky thing I made no such vow, was it not?"

He laid his chin against my hair. "It was indeed, Jane."

We sat together like that for some time, until the lengthening shadows signaled it was time to return to Moor House.

¶

At last the day for the wedding arrived. What a commotion that morning was! Such shining of shoes and plaiting of hair! I half-feared our family party would not arrive at the church in time. But of course we did.

Mary made a beautiful bride. All week she had been far calmer than the rest of us together, and that day her serenity was her finest accessory. She wore her mother's wedding dress, which had been refashioned into a more modern style, and flowers in her hair. The parson from the next village came to perform the ceremony, and Diana stood up with Mary at the altar. She had asked me to do so, as well, but bore me no ill will when I decided instead to sit in a front pew with my husband.

The wedding party and guests then returned to Moor House, where there was much feasting and rejoicing. Hannah kept alternating between beaming smiles and tears, but Diana made a perfect hostess. I knew the eminent parting of her from Mary, if only for the honeymoon, must be troubling her. But she never showed it in her expression or in her continued concern for the comfort of her sister's guests.

Soon the bride's and groom's cakes had been eaten, the new Mr. and Mrs. Wharton ushered off in the carriage for a tour of the Lake District, and the other guests returned to Morton. Moor House fell quiet again.

"Oh my," Hannah fanned herself as she sat heavily in her chair by her fire. "I forgot how weddings wear one out."

Diana laughed from where she and I were gathering up plates. "But what a happy way to wear out! I am sorry we did not have such a fête for you, Jane."

Now that the guests were gone Edward had retired to our room with a slight headache. But I spoke for both of us.

"You are sweet, Diana, but Edward and I should not have wanted one."

"Miss Mary said to tell you she took extra care of your mother's dress, Miss Diana," Hannah told her. "She left it upstairs when she changed for the wedding journey. I'll clean and press it for you, so you can put it away."

"It should go back in Mama's trunk in the attic," Diana said absently as she tried to pick up all the serviettes.

Hannah looked at me, and I could see the sparkle in the old woman's eyes.

"Oh, no, Miss Diana," she said. "It goes in your trunk now."

Still distracted by her labors, Diana laughed. "My trunk? Whatever for?'

"Listen to her," Hannah told me, chuckling. And then to Diana she added, "You may have need of it someday."

Diana brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. "Do not be silly, Hannah."

But Hannah just continued to smile. "You wait and see, Miss Diana. You wait and see if you don't."


	8. Chapter 8

Ch. 8

Edward and I remained at Moor House with Hannah and Diana for a fortnight after the wedding, until Mary and her new husband returned. Then we once again packed our trunks and began the journey homeward.

As we passed Lansdowne we paused to collect Adele from the Spencers. The old house looked as cheerful and comfortable as ever. Captain and Mrs. Spencer emerged to greet our carriage as we arrived.

"Welcome back, welcome back," Mrs. Spencer cried. "Was it a pleasant journey?"

As I stepped down I assured her that everything had been lovely.

"We got your letter and Adele has been expecting you," the Captain told us.

And yet Adele was nowhere in sight. The person who was in sight, however, was little Caleb, who remained just behind his mother's skirts with a suspiciously wide grin on his freckled face.

"And where is Adele?" Edward asked as he descended. "Determined to make an entrance as usual, eh?"

Caleb made a choking sound. His mother quickly hushed him.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Mrs. Spencer told us. She, too, had a strange expression on her face. "Caleb, run along now and fetch your Uncle Chauncey."

"Yes, Mama." Caleb dashed off, leaving Edward and I standing in next to the carriage in a great deal of confusion.

In a moment Caleb came running back to us. "Here they are! Here they are!"

Rounding the corner of the house was Chauncey, leading his roan mare on a long tether. And on the mare's back with the reins in her hands, riding sidesaddle, was Adele.

"What on earth?" I said. I told Edward what I was seeing.

"Adele on a horse? Impossible! She has refused every offer of riding lessons since she was seven years old," he insisted. "It is a hopeless case."

"Not so hopeless any more, Rochester," Captain Spencer laughed.

Adele brought the horse to a halt before us, and Chauncey helped her dismount. She did not do so with any particular grace, but the glowing pride in her face was all that mattered. She rushed up to me for an affectionate embrace.

"Did I not surprise you, Mrs. Rochester?" She demanded. "Was it not a good joke?"

Caleb certainly thought it was; he was fairly rolling on the ground for laughing.

"My dear child," I said, smoothing her hair, "it is a lovely surprise. But you always said…"

"…That you would not set foot near a saddle as long as ever you lived," Edward finished for me.

"Yes, this is true. But many girls at Mrs. Abbott's, they ride when they are at 'ome, and I did not want to be left out," she explained. "And so I ask—asked—Chauncey if he would teach me, and he did."

"She took to it fairly well, for a girl." Chauncey spoke for the first time as he fed a carrot to his docile old horse. "Truffle here is as gentle as a lamb. Of course Adele would have learned faster if it was not for the sidesaddle."

"Yes, I am afraid she had to learn using mine, which is rather too big for a child," Mrs. Spencer explained with a smile. "Mr. Rochester, you will have to buy her one of her own now."

"Oh, will I now?" Edward grumbled. But I could tell he was secretly pleased. He had long believed Adele's many fears would hold her back in life. This victory of Adele's, however small, was as important to him as it was to me.

"When you return to school you will be able to tell the other girls all about your new accomplishment," I told Adele.

I then turned to the Spencer family.

"Thank you all for your kindness to Adele. Mr. Rochester and I never doubted but she was being well looked after, and here is proof."

The Captain waved this compliment away. "Nonsense, we were happy to have her. She was no end of help keeping the boys amused. Adele, when your fall school term ends you may visit here as often as you like."

Adele curtseyed neatly. "Thank you, _Capitane_ Spencer."

Caleb picked himself up off the ground and brushed himself off. "Yes, do come back, Adele. We shall have all sorts of jolly fun, shall we not, Chauncey?"

The older boy shrugged, clearly more interested in his horse than in the conversation. "I suppose we can teach her to sled if there is enough snow this winter," he finally offered.

Adele's trunk was brought down and strapped to the carriage next to Edward's and my own. Mrs. Spencer kissed Adele goodbye, and then also kissed my cheek. She promised that we should have tea together soon to catch up on all the news.

As we rumbled away towards home Adele continued to beam with pleasure at the success of her surprise. And I continued to smile with pride at what a capable young lady she was turning out to be.

¶

Unfortunately I was not able to take Mrs. Spencer up on her kind offer of tea any time soon. The traveling to and from Morton had worn me out, and I felt just ill enough to want to stay close to home for a while.

In September Adele went to Mrs. Spencer's school in a much better frame of mind than the previous spring. In fact, although she would not admit it aloud, I suspected she was rather looking forward to her fall term. I daresay she was now grown used to the hustle and bustle of a half a dozen young scholars. Life with Edward and I at Atherton must have now seemed intolerably dull by comparison.

With Adele gone Edward and I settled back into our quiet routine. Although I still did not feel quite myself I did my utmost to help Edward keep our home and estates running smoothly.

And then one day, just before our second wedding anniversary, as we were sitting in the study writing letters, Edward paused in his dictation. He came and bent over me, and said—

"Jane, have you a glittering ornament round your neck?"

I had a gold watch-chain; I answered, "Yes."

"And have you a pale blue dress on?"

I had.

"I thought so. Now, as I was saying…"

I stood up so quickly it made me dizzy. I nearly upset the inkwell as I steadied myself.

"Edward Fairfax Rochester! How do you know what color my dress is?"

He smirked ever so slightly. "Perhaps I asked Mrs. Fairfax."

"Edward!"

"Please do not get so excited, my dear. Here, sit down." And he took hold of my arm and guided me to the settee. "I did not mean to be so dramatic, but I wanted to be sure."

My heart was beating so rapidly I was sure it would flutter quite out of my chest. "Sure of what?"

"I have been suspecting for some time the sight in my right eye might be returning," he told me. "At times it seemed like I could begin to discern shapes and colours again, but at other times I could not, so I said nothing. But now I am certain."

I felt so weak that if it had not been for the chair I would have slipped to the floor.

"Edward," I whispered in awe. "Are you telling me you can see?"

He sat beside me and took my hand. "Not very distinctly, and not very well. But, yes, Janet, I believe I can see."

"Oh, my," was all I could manage to say.

At that point Mrs. Fairfax entered the room to ask me about the next day's meals. Seeing how pale I was but not apprehending the cause, the good lady immediately sent for some tea to fortify me. She then left Edward and I in peace. He poured me a cup and sat beside me until I drank all of it.

"Oh, my," was still all I could say.

"I wish now I had thought of a better way of breaking the news," he told me. "But it is not something I ever expected to say."

I took several deep breaths to calm myself.

"What does this mean, Edward? Will it be permanent?" I was suddenly terrified at the thought that this gift might be cruelly snatched away from Edward again.

"I do not know."

"Or will your sight continue to improve? Will—"

He took both my hands in his own; they had been fluttering helplessly.

"I do not know, Jane. But I think it is time to find out."

"What do you mean?"

After the… accident, Carter wanted to send me to a specialist in London. There are evidently several fine oculists there. In my stubbornness and dark mood I refused."

"London?" I had never been to England's great metropolis, or within a hundred miles of it. "You want to go to London?"

I shook myself. "Yes, of course we must go. Let us write to Mr. Carter at once, and see who he recommends, and to Dr. McKay down in Dovecote. Oh, and Captain Spencer has friends at the Royal Naval Hospital in Greenwich—he may know someone as well…"

I rushed back to the desk and began hunting for clean sheets of paper.

Edward approached and laid a hand against the small of my back. "Janet, you must slow down. I did not regain my sight overnight. We have time to make all the inquiries your heart desires."

I took another round of steadying breaths.

"Yes, you are right, Edward. Let us sit down, and compose our letters as rational people do."

And although we proceeded to do just that, privately my mind continued to race.

It was astounding.

Edward could see again.

What would this mean for our future?


	9. Chapter 9

Ch. 9

"I declare, I have never heard the like." Mrs. Spencer's hand had frozen in place, with her teacup in mid-air. "Mr. Rochester can see again?"

I had pushed aside my fatigue and traveled to Lansdowne to consult with my dear friends. The boys were taken up to the nursery, the Spencers and I were seated together in the garden with some light refreshments, and I proceeded to tell them the news. In truth I longed for their opinion on the matter, and I had promised Edward I would speak to the Captain about finding a skilled oculist.

"It is remarkable, but, I imagine, not completely unheard of," Captain Spencer said thoughtfully. "The human body is an astonishing creation. Why, I knew a fellow once on Majorca…"

"How is Mr. Rochester feeling?" Mrs. Spencer hastily interrupted her husband. Evidently the story of the man on Majorca was not one she wanted me to hear at the moment.

"Edward feels fine." I twisted my gloves in my hand. "He had been having occasional headaches, but they seem to have passed for now. There seems to be daily improvement. He is able to make out colours quite well, and this morning he was able to read a word or two before he became too tired."

"Do not let him rush his recovery," the Captain counseled. "He might easily do himself another injury."

"So I keep telling him, but it is difficult for him to resist. You did not know him before his injury, Captain—he was such an independent man. He wants that independence back."

"Of course he does," Mrs. Spencer soothed, placing my neglected cup of tea into my hands. "Any rational creature would feel the same way. You will travel to London for a consultation, I expect?"

"Yes, and in truth that is what I wished your advice on, Captain." I turned to my host. "We have written to Mr. Rochester's former surgeon and to the local doctor here to seek their opinions. But I had understood from Mrs. Spencer that you have connections at the Royal Naval Hospital."

"Indeed, I have several friends there. William Bennett, who was my own doctor on the _Hastings_ for many years, is there now, and I daresay he knows every one of his brother physicians in the country. Shall I write to him on your behalf?"

"I confess that is just what I had hoped for."

"Then I shall do so at once." The Captain stood. "I shall be back in a trice, my dear—keep one of those little lemon cakes back for me before the boys get them all," he told his wife.

The Captain went into his study, and Catherine and I were left alone.

"You are both most kind," I said shakily. The strain of the last few days had taken its toll, and I was near tears.

"Dearest Jane, do not fret." She put an arm around me. "Everything will work out just fine, you shall see. And Dr. Bennett is one of the finest physicians I ever met, not a mere naval sawbones. He shall find you and Mr. Rochester the right man."

"Oh." I sniffled a bit. "I did not realize you knew him as well."

"Indeed." She pushed back her curls to reveal again the faint scar at her hairline. "Behold some of his fine work."

I gave a puzzled frown. "I am afraid I do not understand, Catherine."

She laughed. "No, I daresay you would not, as it is a rather long story. But if you like I shall tell it to you."

I longed for some distraction from my worries. "Please do."

"Do you remember some months ago—I cannot quite recall what we were discussing at the time—I told you that many happy marriages had been created under rather unusual circumstances?"

"I seem to remember something of the sort."

"And do you remember that I used to live with my brother Kinsey at Valparaiso?"

"Yes."

"Well, Kinsey and I were traveling back to England, where my eldest brother, Resolve, was living. And the ship upon which we traveled was caught in a storm in the south Atlantic. Lightning struck the mizzenmast, and it caught fire. In short, the ship sank."

I nearly dropped my cup. "Gracious! You have never told me that."

"As I said, it is a long story. In any event, once it became clear to the passengers and crew what was about to happen you can imagine the commotion. Kinsey and I became separated. Something struck me on the head; I suspect it may have been part of the falling rigging. It gave me quite a gash, and knocked me unconscious for I do not know how long. Fortunately I awoke when the water reached me, and was able to swim away from the wreckage and find a piece of debris to which I could cling. You see, Jane, when one is in the open ocean the very great danger, even if once can already swim, as I can, is the water's chill. Saltwater can become extremely cold and one seldom realizes the danger one is in until it is too late."

"My dear Catherine! What happened?"

"The next few hours, or perhaps days, were rather a blur, thankfully. The blow I had received made my awareness hazy at best. When I finally regained all my senses I was aboard the _Hastings_, and Dr. Bennett was caring for me. Captain Spencer's ship, you see, had happened on the wreckage and some of the survivors. Evidently my own life was despaired of for a time, but the good doctor cared for me, and here I am."

I took a large swallow of my now-cold tea. "What a thing to go through. And your brother? Was he aboard as well?"

"No, I am afraid he was not. And of course it was assumed his life was lost, as several others had been." Her eyes grew distant for a moment as she gazed out over her garden. "In fact, the first time I ever saw my husband was when he came to my sickbed to tell me that my brother had not been found. He felt it was his duty as captain to deliver the sad news himself."

"But you did not believe him?"

"Kinsey is my twin, Jane. I should have known if he were dead. Ever since he was a boy he had been getting into impossible scrapes and then out of them just as quickly. My dear mother used to say he was as much trouble as the other six of us put together. Not to mention he had spent near his whole life at sea. No, I was certain that if anyone could have survived, it would have been Kinsey Wheeler. And I told Captain Spencer as much on our first meeting."

"And what did the Captain think?"

"I am afraid I thought she had hit her head rather too hard." The Captain had reemerged from the house, this time with Nicholas on his shoulder. "The letter is ready for the afternoon post, Mrs. Rochester. It should be in Greenwich in a day or two at most."

"Thank you," I told him most earnestly as he set down his second born. Nicholas, who has recently begun to walk, made a beeline for me because I was next to the serving tray. I spontaneously pulled him into my lap and he laughed. In the year I had known him the baby had grown into a little boy, but I still delighted in the dear child.

"You see, Jane, the Captain to this day does not believe me. He thinks it was mere coincidence that, when the _Hastings_ finally arrived at Portsmouth, both Resolve and Kinsey were standing on the dock looking for my arrival. Just as I had been telling him would happen." She smiled smugly at her better half. "Kinsey had been picked up by a Portuguese trading vessel."

"It was a coincidence, my dear," the Captain said firmly. "Either that, or the fact that that brother of yours has more lives than a cat."

But I was not so certain. I vividly remembered that day at Moor House when I had _heard_ Edward call to me, even though he had been miles away at Ferndean at the time. And he still insisted he had heard my own voice in return. Neither of us questioned what we had experienced then, but I still shivered a bit when I thought of it. Edward had once told me he and I were invisibly connected to one another, and those strange occurrences had seemed to confirm it. And if Edward and I, who were not blood relations, could experience such a thing, then surely it was likely Mrs. Spencer spoke the truth about her connection to her twin.

"My husband and I have agreed to disagree on the matter, you see, Jane," Catherine continued with a smile.

"It is an excellent story, at any rate, and my wife likes to tell it." The Captain sat down again and picked up his cup. "Nicholas, get your fingers out of the jam," he told his young son, who had seized the opportunity to explore the contents of the tea tray.

I pulled my handkerchief out, but Nicholas quickly popped his purple, sticky fingers into his mouth. He grinned mischievously at me around them, as if to say, "Now you may _not_ have the jam back. I am clever, am I not?"

"It is a remarkable story," I told the Spencers, "and I did like hearing it."

And, seated there in the garden, I suddenly felt immense gratitude. Until I had come to Thornfield I had never had any friends, save one who had long ago gone on before me to the next life. Although I still feared what the future might hold for my beloved master, it comforted me to know that the Spencers, and Adele, and Mrs. Fairfax, and John and Maria, would be there if we needed them.

¶

In response to our inquiries we received the names of several physicians in London who might be of use in Edward's case. Captain Spencer's friend, Dr. Bennett, sent a particularly solicitous letter full of useful information. Edward and I found out as much as we could about each possible physician before making our decision.

We finally selected a German-born physician named Gerhardt, whom Bennett and several other doctors we consulted considered the best-trained and most innovative oculist in Britain. The Naval Hospital, Dr. Bennett had written, even referred difficult cases to Dr. Gerhardt, who would often take them on at no charge. I believe it may have been this last that tipped the scales in Gerhardt's favor.

Edward and I wrote to him at his consulting rooms in Baker Street, and he replied promptly with a suggested time and date for our appointment.

And so Edward and I were off for London. I suppose, provincial that I was, that I should have been excited about the prospect of seeing the great city for the first time. But in truth I was not. The weather was turning cold, the journey was long, and I was fretful. I am afraid I was even rather short with Edward when he suggested we extend our London visit for a few days so I could better see the place. Fortunately Edward was in a better frame of mind than I, and did his best to keep me comfortable and amused on our journey.

I had known my master now nearly four years, and had been married to him for two. I could see his improving vision was giving him hope and buoying his spirit. And seeing that only made me worry more about how Edward should react if the news from the doctor was not good.

In London we stayed at a hotel Edward knew in Portland Place. It was a venerable place, with red-coated footmen at the door and a concierge who greeted us by name every morning. Our rooms were beautiful, with blue damask wallpaper and a view of Regent's Park. The hotel's fine restaurant provided all our meals. But I found I could not sleep for the sound of horses' hooves clattering on the cobblestones outside. I longed to be back at Atherton.

Two days after our arrival we took a chaise to Baker Street to meet with Dr. Gerhardt. A neatly dressed young man, the doctor's assistant, I understood, admitted us.

The waiting area was tastefully done in shades of red and gold, with several potted ferns on the mantle. It looked more like a parlour than a physician's office.

In a trice a set of sliding doors opened, and a big man with a thick beard appeared.

He approached and said, in a voice only slightly tinged with a German accent, "Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Rochester, yes? I am Dr. Franz Gerhardt. I am most pleased to make your acquaintances."

He and Edward shook hands, and I could see the doctor's exceptionally bright green eyes taking in every detail of Edward's face. Once could almost see the wheels in the doctor's mind turning as he contemplated my master's injuries. He then turned to me.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Rochester, but might I ask you to stay here? Space is rather at a premium in the examination room, you see."

"There is no matter involving myself that my wife may not be privy to," Edward told the doctor.

"A very sensible attitude in a marriage, I am sure," Dr. Gerhardt agreed. "And I will be happy to share every detail with Mrs. Rochester afterwards. But for now, I must insist. You would not mind, would you, Mrs. Rochester?"

I was torn. I wanted to stay with my husband, but I also understood that my presence might intrude upon the examination. I studied the doctor's broad, kindly face for a moment before I spoke.

"Of course not. Perhaps I shall walk to the park, if you would not object, Edward? I have long wished to see it."

Edward, I could tell, rightly suspected that I had made up this last. But he sighed.

"Very well. Then lead on, Doctor. I am at your disposal."

Dr. Gerhardt clapped his hands. "Excellent. We shall need, oh, only a half or perhaps three quarters of an hour, Mrs. Rochester. And when you return we shall all sit down together and discuss your husband's case, yes?"

I nodded, and watched as the doctor and Edward disappeared behind those ominous sliding doors.

Left alone in the waiting room, I fiddled with my reticule and tied and retied my bonnet before finally deciding the wait would be less difficult if I took my own suggestion to heart.

I stepped back out to Baker Street, where the morning carriage traffic had finally begun to ease a bit. It was only two short blocks to the Clarence Gate entrance of Regent's Park, and as I passed through it I found that my mood did indeed begin to lighten.

The park seemed like the blissful open heart of the densely packed city. Here a full expanse of bright blue sky could be seen. Instead of being crowded with buildings and people, here trees and flower beds filled one's vision. A cool breeze ruffled the water on Boating Lake as I passed over Clarence Bridge. No one was boating today (the weather was too cool) but on the shore several young children played with toy ships.

In fact, other than myself the main occupants of the park seemed to be children. Here and there a mother kept a watchful eye, or a nurse pushed a perambulator.

I found a spot on a bench where I could rest and wait until I could return to Dr. Gerhardt's consulting rooms. As I waited I saw several boys running after a red ball. A little girl passed by singing to her doll, as her mother followed holding the hand of an even smaller girl. Two young mothers stood nearby, gossiping and absently bouncing their babies on their hips.

Perhaps it was the sight of all this fecundity around me, or perhaps it was because this was the first moment of relative calm I had allowed myself to have in weeks. But as I sat there I suddenly began to count backwards in my mind, and I came to a startling realization.

You will think me woefully ignorant, dear reader, for not recognizing the signs sooner, but pray remember that I had never had a mother of my own who might have taught me about such things. My aunt had certainly taken no such pains, and the teachers at Lowood would never have contemplated giving us such information.

I sat there in silent awe for a long moment. Could I possibly be correct in my assumptions? Oh, how did one know these things for certain?

So lost was I in these contemplations that a half hour flew by without my realizing it. Only when I happened to glance at my watch did I realize it was time to return to my husband's side.

I walked back to Baker Street as slowly and carefully as I could, and arrived just in time to be admitted by the good doctor himself.

"My dear Mrs. Rochester, I was just looking for your arrival! Do come into my office and sit down; Mr. Rochester is waiting for you."

He led me past the examination room into another space, this one fairly overflowing with books and all sorts of strange medical devices. Many of them were made of metal, and I dared not linger on their possible uses. There was a skull on one shelf, and an elaborately drawn chart showing the inner workings of the human eye on the wall.

Edward was sitting in a chair before the desk, and rose to greet me.

"Just in time, as always, my dear."

We all sat down again, with the doctor on one of the desk and the two of us on the other. I saw that Dr. Gerhardt had before him a thick sheaf of papers full of his handwritten notes.

"Well now, Mr. Rochester." He cleared his throat. "I am happy to be able to tell you. The results of my examination confirm that the sight is indeed returning to your right eye." He had folded his hands before him and was regarding Edward steadily. "There is every reason to believe that the improvement will continue."

I drew in a breath, and took Edward's hand.

"But how is it possible?" My master asked. "There has been no sight there, save light and dark, since the day I awoke with this." He gestured to the scar across his forehead and the closed left eye. "That was some three years ago now."

The German shuffled his notes. "When you first wrote to me and described the nature of your injury I suspected what might have been at work. The examination I performed today showed that the vision in your right eye had been obscured by scar tissue. The human eye is a remarkable structure: fragile, but quite able to protect itself when need be."

The doctor's voice had softened a bit. It was strange to hear someone speak so lovingly about an organ, but I suppose when one has devoted one's life to the study of it such feelings are not unusual.

"That scar tissue was formed at the time of your other injuries, Mr. Rochester. Whether from the heat of the fire or the blow that cost you the other eye, I could not say. But that tissue has been serving as a sort of…protective covering so the eye could heal."

"But three years?" I finally ventured tentatively. "Why so long?"

"The eye is a delicate apparatus, Mrs. Rochester, and the injury was severe. But as it healed, bit by bit your husband's body reabsorbed the scar tissue. This would of course account for why he could at first only detect light and dark, but eventually shapes, colors, and faces as his vision improved."

"And I will have full use of it again?" Edward was squeezing my fingers in his own.

The doctor sat back in his chair. "'Full use?' Hmm. That is an interesting question to consider. You will have sight, of course. Your vision is already sharp enough to make out letters and numbers if they are not too far away. But," here he held up one large hand, "the Lord designed us to see with two eyes, Mr. Rochester, not one. You will adapt, but you must be careful not to strain yourself too far. The headaches you mentioned, for example. Those occur when the eye muscle becomes fatigued. Writing a letter, reading a few passages from a book—these activities will of course be entirely possible. But you must have excellent light, and you must learn not to do too much. Otherwise the eye may be damaged permanently."

Edward's lips curled slightly. "So you are saying I must learn to live with my limitations?"

"That is one way to interpret what I am saying, yes."

"Or perhaps you should consider this a great blessing, Edward, and not try to challenge it too much," I urged him gently.

The doctor chuckled. "Mrs. Rochester speaks quite sensibly. To see a patient who has had sight—any amount of sight—restored is, I am sorry to say, something I rarely see in my practice. I wish such miracles could be daily occurrences, but they are not. Take it for what it is, Mr. Rochester," he urged, "and be glad."

Edward was silent for a long moment.

"As you say, I will be glad," he finally offered, smiling slightly. "At the very least it will give my wife a chance to escape writing all of my letters for me. I daresay she now signs my name better than I do."

His remark drew another laugh from the renowned oculist. "Just so."

"Doctor, be so good as to mention to my wife that matter of the left eye?" Edward added.

"The left eye?" I repeated.

"The left eye socket, then," my master said impatiently, waving his hand slightly in that direction.

"Mrs. Rochester, one of the things I observed during my examination of Mr. Rochester is considerable development of scar tissue around where the left eye had been," the doctor explained to me. "His surgeon did a fine job closing the wound. I could not have done better. But I have suggested to your husband that he protect the area from the bright sun lest the scar tissue thicken further and prevent free movement of the skin around it."

"The fellow wants me to take to wearing an eye patch, Jane," my husband clarified. "Have you heard anything so absurd in your life? I am not a bloody pirate," he grumbled.

"It was merely a suggestion," the doctor told me before I could apologize for Edward's rather rude comment. "Certainly the decision is up to your husband. But he certainly would not be the only gentleman in the country to do so. Your Lord Nelson himself wore an eye patch, you know," Gerhardt said a trifle smugly.

"And if it is good enough for old Horatio it is good enough for me, eh?" Edward chuckled skeptically. "We shall see. We shall see."


	10. Chapter 10

Ch. 10

Content with Dr. Gerhardt's diagnosis, Edward and I returned to our hotel and began to prepare for the journey home. So often had we been traveling this year that we had now become experts at packing and unpacking our trunks, even when Maria or Mrs. Fairfax was not there to help. Once back at Atherton, I vowed, we would stay put for the coming months.

And, of course, I suspected we would soon have a very good reason to stay at home. But I said nothing of this possibility to Edward. I feared he would not let me undertake the journey at all if he knew. Worse, he might insist on my visiting some fashionable London lady's doctor to have my question answered. That was perhaps the very last thing I wanted at the moment. I felt more than fit enough to travel, and, one way or another, I wanted to be at home at Atherton when I received the news.

So I kept silent, and allowed Edward to enjoy the return journey without worrying for my sake. The landscapes were traveled through on our journey northward were autumnal, and not particularly pretty. But he took great pleasure in pointing out to me the rich hues of gold and red in the leaves, and the smoke rising cozily from the chimneys of every village we passed. The ability to see again, even imperfectly, had clearly done much to restore some of my master's interest in the larger world around him.

I took great pains on the journey not to overtire myself or to engage in anything strenuous, and I waited only a day after our arrival in –shire to send for the local doctor. I had John carry the letter down to Dovecote, and the first Edward knew about the visit was when the good doctor himself appeared at the door.

Doctor Angus McKay was a big, burly Scot, with a shock of reddish hair and a soft burr in his voice. He was a fully trained physician, not just a surgeon or apothecary. Few towns as small as Dovecote could have attracted such a man, but I understood he had a particular interest in studying the health and well being of factory workers. Dovecote's location close to the River A--- and its many industrial towns made it an ideal location for him to make his home. He was well liked and respected in the community. Edward and I had met him a few times after church and at neighbors' homes. Most importantly, I knew he had delivered Mrs. Spencer's second child, and most of other the local children as well.

"Good morning to you, Mrs. Rochester," he told me in his cheerful voice as we stood together in the front hall.

"Good morning, Dr. McKay. Thank you for coming so promptly."

"And how is Mr. Rochester this fine day?"

Edward himself appeared from his study just as I finished catching Dr. McKay up on all the news.

"Well, well, then. Good morning, Doctor."

"Good morning, Mr. Rochester." The Scotsman smiled widely. "I understand from your wife I am to congratulate you on good news from your London oculist?"

"Indeed." For the first time Edward recognized that the doctor had his bag with him. "Is someone in the household ill, Jane?" He asked me, his dark brows drawing together in a frown. "You said nothing of it this morning."

The doctor looked at me, and I hastened to explain.

"I sent for Dr. McKay, Edward. I wanted to see him. Do come upstairs, Doctor," I said.

The doctor began to follow me up the stairs. Halfway up our progress was interrupted by Edward, who had been standing by in confused silence.

"I do not understand. Are you ill, Jane? You look fine."

I smiled down at him. "No, Edward, I am not ill."

¶

It took Dr. McKay only a few minutes to confirm the suspicions that had first formed in my mind that day in Regent's Park.

"Did you not recognize the symptoms, Mrs. Rochester?" He asked me afterwards. "Or at least that your corsets were getting too tight?"

I did not let the doctor's earthy frankness bother me. "No, I did not. All I knew is that I did not feel quite right."

The doctor chuckled. "That is as apt a description as I have heard in awhile."

"And I never lace my corsets very tightly anyway." I was reclining, with my hand over my abdomen to protect the child I now knew grew there. "When will it come?"

"Based on what you have told me, and what I can tell for myself, I would say you are near three months along already. So let us expect your lying-in sometime around Easter; certainly by the end of April." He then looked at me a bit more seriously. "It is important that you rest as much as possible, Mrs. Rochester—especially after your long journey to London and back."

"I will, I promise. Edward and I have vowed not to set foot out of –shire for another year."

He packed up his doctor's bag. "I will call regularly to check on your progress."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"And if you ever need anything and I am not available, might I suggest you send for Mrs. Jones? She and her husband have a little farm the other side of Dovecote. She is the local midwife and often assists me when she can. In fact, I believe you have met her oldest girl, Katie. She is nurse to the two Spencer boys over at Lansdowne."

I thought of the friendly, open-faced girl I had often encountered at the Manor. "I have indeed. She seems a fine girl."

"Oh, she is—all the Jones children are as hearty and sensible as one could wish for. There are twelve of them altogether."

"Twelve? Good gracious."

Dr. McKay and I shook hands, and he promised to drop by again in a few days. I was still seated on the bed, but as the doctor left I heard him speaking again in the hallway.

"I rarely have call to congratulate a man twice in one day, Mr. Rochester, but it seems congratulations are in order again, sir."

Even through the door remained open I could not hear Edward's reply. But a moment later he himself appeared in the doorway. He looked more tentative and apprehensive than I had ever seen him.

"Jane?" He asked softly.

I held out my hand to him, and he quickly crossed to my side and took it.

"Why did you not say something this morning?" He demanded. "I have been in agony downstairs wondering what was the matter, and it was only just now that I realized why Dr. McKay must be here."

"I did not wish to excite you unnecessarily, Edward. I was not certain myself."

He sat down on the side of the bed, but did not release my hand from his own.

"Are you happy, Edward?" I asked him.

He groaned. "'Am I happy', she asks me!" He bent down and kissed me soundly. "My darling fairy, how could I not be?" He stroked the side of my face. "I want this more than anything on Earth, save perhaps your good self. Did the doctor say…did he know when it will come? Summer, I suppose?"

"No, my dear. April. Perhaps near Easter."

My master sat up straighter. "So soon? But…"

I blushed. "Pray do not think me softheaded for not knowing earlier. I feel foolish enough as it is."

"Do you mean to tell me you let me drag you all the way to London without you saying a word?" Edward's expression had changed. He now looked exceptionally stern--almost thunderous. "Jane, what might have happened!"

I quickly soothed him. "I did not know when we left for London, Edward, else I should have told you, I promise. I would not have put our baby at risk so casually."

He was calmed somewhat by this statement. "It would not have been only the baby at risk, Jane," he said softly, smoothing my hair. Then he stood. "But now that we do know, you can be properly cared for. I shall start by having Mrs. Fairfax bring your lunch up on a tray."

I laughed. "Edward, I am perfectly able to go downstairs. There is work to do…"

But he shook his head. "Do not move from that bed for the rest of the day, Janet. I am quite serious, I assure you. You will stay in bed until you are completely recovered from the journey. John and Maria can finish unpacking the trunks, and Mrs. Fairfax can handle all the household arrangements."

I opened my mouth to protest again, but he held up his hand.

"Do as I say, Jane. Please, for the sake of my poor nerves, if not your health."

And, put in those terms, how could I refuse him?

¶

As gratifying as it was to see Edward's joy, and Mrs. Fairfax's and John's and Maria's, when they heard the news, I soon found their solicitude for my health rather overwhelming.

Edward, when he did finally allow me downstairs, was constantly exhorting me to sit or lay down in whatever room I happened to occupy. Mrs. Fairfax and Maria plied me with food, even when I had just eaten. I knew their intentions were good, but I am afraid I found it all quite wearing.

"It is as if I can no longer look after myself," I told Mrs. Spencer a few days later. She had called at Atherton (Edward had of course refused to let me travel to Lansdowne) and had been most pleased to hear the happy news. "I am increasing, not ill."

Mrs. Spencer laughed. "But they care for you, and want to do their best for you."

"And I am growing quite weary of being in the house all the time," I admitted.

"Then why do we not go for a walk in the gardens? It is a fine day out, for late autumn."

I blushed a bit. "Edward will not let me."

"Nonsense." We rose and she took my arm. "We shall walk quite slowly. A little exercise now and again, Jane, will be a very good thing in the coming months."

I was most glad to hear her say so. So far all the advice I had been receiving had come either from men or from women who did not have children of their own. I desperately needed the perspective of someone who had gone through this successfully. Mrs. Spencer had done so not once, but twice.

No sooner had we stepped out of doors, however, than Edward appeared. He intercepted us on our way to my gardens.

"My dear Jane, why are you out here?" He said with a frown. "It is too cold. Go in at once."

I looked helplessly at Mrs. Spencer, who still held onto my arm.

"We thought perhaps we would take a turn in the fresh air. Dr McKay always recommended plenty of fresh air to me when I was in a delicate condition," Catherine said with a slight smile.

"He did, eh?" Edward looked thoughtful. "Then come back inside and we can open the windows in the drawing room."

"Edward, I want to walk outside, just for a little while. I feel the need to stretch my legs. I promise you, I will not overtire myself, and you can see I have my warm cape on."

My master was silent for a time. "Five minutes, then, Jane."

"Fifteen," I corrected.

"Ten, and then I am coming to get you myself," he said firmly.

"Oh, pray do not trouble yourself, Mr. Rochester. I shall bring her right back to you on time," Mrs. Spencer vowed.

Once we had passed out of Edward's hearing I turned to my friend.

"You see what I am up against."

She laughed. "I do, indeed. Men can be so terribly stubborn about such things, always insisting they know best."

"Did Dr. McKay really say that to you, about the fresh air?" I asked.

"Of course he did. I should never undertake to lie to Mr. Rochester. I am sure he should find me out in a trice."

"What should I do, Catherine? I want everything to continue as before."

"Things will change, Jane," she told me sagely. "They will have to, particularly as your lying-in approaches. This is why you should take every opportunity now, while you can. Perhaps you might write to Dr. McKay, and suggest he give you a list of his recommendations. That way, when Mr. Rochester is in the mood to argue over whatever you are doing, you can produce it and insist that is doctor's orders."

I nodded. "That is a most sensible suggestion, Catherine. Thank you."

She squeezed my arm. "Not at all. I well remember the many questions and concerns I had before Caleb arrived, and no one to answer them for me. So pray feel free to ask me anything you like, and I will answer you honestly."

From that day onward Mrs. Spencer became my most valuable source of information. I did indeed have Dr. McKay assemble a list to share with Edward, and I was pleased to find very few restrictions upon it. The doctor not only recommended plenty of fresh air, but that I try to spend at least a little time out of doors each day when the weather was fine. And although he agreed with Mrs. Fairfax that proper nourishment was very important, he saw no reason for continually pursuing me with bowls of broth or blancmange.

I cannot say that the other members of the Atherton household treated me exactly as they had before, but I can tell you that, with the good doctor and Mrs. Spencer on my side, I was able to resume most of my daily activities in relative peace.

¶

By the time Edward's and my third Christmas together had passed, my condition was obvious even to the casual observer. On the advice of Mrs. Spencer I sent for the local dressmaker. I had her make me a few new pelisses with extra fabric under the bodice and a clasp that could be adjusted as needed to accommodate my new figure. They were at once fashionable enough to please Edward and comfortable enough to please myself.

Adele had come home for the Christmas holidays, and I daresay she was more excited at the news than Edward had been. She at once set to work crocheting a tiny bonnet and slippers for the new arrival.

That December a rare layer of new snow had arrived to coat –shire. And so when Adele was not busy with her work the boys from Lansdowne were always available for a romp outside. There was much sledding done and many snowball fights had. I am pleased to report that Adele did not always come out the worst in such battles, because she had made a wise military alliance with Caleb Spencer against his uncle.

My increasingly ungainly figure did not allow me to participate, of course, but I took great pleasure as a quiet observer sitting by Atherton's windows. That way I could watch the children play while I knitted, or sewed, or just sat quietly, feeling my baby's fluttery movements within me.

As I had had no experience of this kind before, I was surprised at the amount of interest my condition generated amongst our neighbors. Every lady for ten miles in any direction, it seemed, called at Atherton to pay their respects and to give me unsolicited advice on a whole host of topics. Edward quickly learned to make himself scarce when a carriage was heard in the drive, lest he be trapped into playing the polite host to a gaggle of women for the afternoon.

Mrs. Spencer had told me that such interest was only to be expected in a small neighborhood, and to try to bear it with equanimity. But after one such visit by Mrs. Lane and Miss Bunting, Mrs. Fairfax found me sitting on the stairs, weeping. Alarmed, she sent for my master at once.

"My little bird, what is wrong?" He demanded, towering over me. "Are you ill? Should I send for the doctor?"

"No, Edward, I feel quite well. I am only a little upset, is all."

Heedless of his good trousers, he sat next to me on the stairs and stretched his legs out before him. "I am all ears, Janet."

"It is nothing," I sniffed.

But my husband shook his head. "You will not get away that easily, Janet. I should be a bad friend, not to mention an ungrateful husband, if I did not let you share your troubles with me."

I held up a rumpled letter in my fist. It was the arrival of this letter, shortly after Mrs. Lane's and Miss Bunting's departure, which had set me off.

Edward took it carefully, and looked at the direction. It took him a moment longer to identify the handwriting with his good eye. "It is from your cousins at Moor House. Not bad news, I trust?"

"No, most happy news, actually." I sniffed again, and Edward gave me his handkerchief. "It is from Diana. She writes to tell me Mary is increasing."

Edward smiled at me. "But Jane, that is good news, is it not?"

"Of course it is! I am most happy for the Whartons. But Diana writes that Mary's baby is expected the same time as our own—in April, or perhaps early May. She begs me to forgive her, but she will not be able to join us here at Atherton for my lying-in. She feels she must stay at Morton."

"Ah, I understand now." Edward pulled me closer. "You are disappointed."

I leaned my head against his shoulder. "I did so want family present, Edward. Of course Diana should stay with Mary, but…"

He kissed my forehead tenderly. "I know."

"And even that would not have been so bad, had I not just spent the morning with Mrs. Lane and Miss Bunting."

Edward grunted. "Those two. I should have known. What did they do this time?"

"Nothing intentional. They just talked around me, as if I was not in the room, as they always do. And the subject of the day was childbirth, or more accurately a catalog of everyone they knew who had had Herculean difficulties."

My master swore softly. "That will be the last time those two harpies are allowed in this house," he added.

"No, Edward, I am sure they did not mean to upset me. I had already noted that ladies, especially, always seem to want to focus on the negatives of the experience rather than the positives. If I were as forthright as Catherine I am sure I should have put my foot down and said I did not want to hear anymore. But I am afraid I took the coward's way out and just sat trying to close my ears. In any event, the conversation set me wrong, and the letter from Diana finished off any remaining good humour I might have had."

"I daresay it would have." Edward sat quietly for a moment. "But do you feel better now?"

"I do, Edward. I am sorry—I should have come to you at once, instead of letting poor Mrs. Fairfax find me. She must have been quite alarmed."

"Fairfax is, I believe, currently downstairs fortifying herself with a pot of tea to recover from the experience."

Edward's dry comment made me laugh.

"There is my Jane back again." He wiped away my remaining tears with his thumb. "I know what will cheer you. Let us ask Captain and Mrs. Spencer to come along with the boys for a visit tomorrow. I long ago promised Spencer I would show him the new maps of Atherton I commissioned, and you may show Mrs. Spencer your improvements to the nursery. Would that be agreeable to you?"

I smiled. "It would be, husband. Most agreeable."

"Then it shall be done, at once." Edward paused for a moment, however, and then cautiously laid his large hand against my small mound of a belly.

The baby moved, and Edward smiled widely. "There, you see? You have gotten little Jane all riled up now. She has her mother's temperament."

"Little Edward," I corrected primly.

He shuddered. "Pray let us _not_ name it after me. The poor mite will have a difficult enough road ahead just being a Rochester. And the world certainly does not need another _Edward_ Rochester, that is for certain."

"Oh, I do not know," I said in a teasing tone. "I am rather partial to the one, so perhaps I should like to have a second."

"And perhaps I should like another Jane," he said, kissing me and then rising. He gave me his hand to help me to my feet.

"But we shall simply have to wait and see which one we get."


	11. Chapter 11

Ch. 11

Infants, or at least the naming of them, were still very much on my mind the next day as I showed Mrs. Spencer around the nursery.

Because the late Lord Atherton had had no children the space on the third floor had been empty when Edward and I had taken Atherton Hall. It had been only a sunny, airy, pleasant room, with the same southern view of the village as most of the rest of the house.

But Edward had recently arranged to have it freshly papered in a pretty, flower-sprigged pattern. Mrs. Fairfax herself had sewn the crisp white curtains that now hung at the many windows. Furnishings from other parts of the house and the attic had been brought in, including places to sit, a small table, and a bed for a nursemaid. The only item missing was the cradle, which Edward was having specially made of walnut by a craftsman in York.

I was relieved that Mrs. Spencer approved of all the fittings and furnishings. Once I told her of it she even approved my plan to keep the baby with me in my room for the first few weeks of his or her life.

"I daresay Mrs. Lane would remind us it is not fashionable to do so," Catherine mused. "But it is far more practical than either you or the nursemaid running up and down the stairs all night. Which reminds me—have you or Mr. Rochester given any thought to hiring a nurse?"

I sat down to rest on the daybed I had had brought upstairs for my own use. "Edward has made some noises about writing to London, but I do not think a London nurse would be happy here for long."

Catherine glanced out a window at the snowy country landscape. "I think you are probably right. Dovecote is a lovely little village, but it is certainly no match for London's charms." She smiled at me. "And as such is the case, I have a suggestion to make. You have met our nursemaid, Katie Jones?"

"Of course." I glanced over at little Nicholas, who was occupied sorting through the ragbag from my sewing box. "But I would not dream of taking her from you! Nicholas is still so young…"

The child glanced up at hearing his name, and his mother laughed.

"And I should not part with her, not even for you, dear Jane. No, it is the next Jones daughter, Sarah, of which I speak."

"Ah. I had heard from Dr. McKay that it is a very large family."

"Yes. Mr. Jones' farm does reasonably well, but with so many mouths to feed—well, you can imagine. Sarah is eighteen now. She presently works as a maid at the Buntings. She is a good girl, always bringing her wages home to help her mother and father. But she is used to caring for all her brothers and sisters, and Katie has confided to me that her sister finds life with the Buntings terribly lonely. I think Sarah would be an excellent nursemaid."

I thought this over for a moment. Ideally I should have liked to take full charge of caring for my baby. But, even though he now had partial sight restored, Edward still needed me a great deal. And there was the house to run, and Adele to care for, when she was home from school. No, I was the first to admit that I would need help.

But I did not want a cold, starchy, traditional nursemaid. I did not want the sort of person who would only cuddle the baby or push it about in its pram because she was being paid to do so.

Credentials mattered but little to me. What did matter was that whoever we hired love our baby almost as much as Edward and I did, and give it her time, attention, and affection when I was occupied elsewhere.

"Let me speak to my husband on the matter," I finally said. "And, if he is agreeable, perhaps Sarah would come here for a visit. Then we shall see if the position would at once suit her and ourselves."

"Splendid." Catherine smiled. She bent down to remove a piece of flannel from Nicholas' grasp just as the child began to chew on it. He scowled at her, but was quickly distracted with a remnant from one of Adele's old silk dresses. As I watched mother and son together I was reminded of the conversation Edward and I had had on the stairs the day before.

"Catherine, if I may ask, how did you and Captain Spencer settle on names for your sons?"

She chuckled knowingly. "Ah, you are already having that argument?"

"I am afraid so."

"Well, let me see. If I remember correctly, I had settled on the name 'Caleb' long before he was born. It is a family name, you see. My mother's father's name. I do not recollect the Captain arguing with me, but if he did I believe I must have just put my foot down. Caleb's middle name is 'Patrick,' so both sides of the family are fairly represented, I think."

I sighed. "I do not know enough about my own family to know what names I might use."

I had long ago told Mrs. Spencer about my childhood, so she now nodded sympathetically.

"For boy's names I did have an uncle named John, and my cousin was St. John. Girl's names are a bit easier, as my mother's name was also Jane," I said thoughtfully. "So there is 'Jane' and 'Mary' and 'Diana' from which to choose."

"There is no rule you must choose a family name," my friend soothed. "In fact, many people do not like using them when more imaginative names might be chosen. The Captain, for instance, does not really care for the way I named either of our sons."

"And where did 'Nicholas' come from?"

"'Nicholas' was another brother of mine," the Captain offered as he and Edward entered the nursery. They had been ensconced in the library pouring over maps, but had evidently finally tired of this occupation. "The middle one. The oldest, Edmund, was heir; the second, Nicholas, was packed off into the Army; I was third, so it was the Navy for me. I daresay if there had been a fourth brother he should have been for the clergy, and then my parents should have had the whole set."

Edward sat down beside me. "Well said," he laughed. "I could only have wished my own father had been as wise."

I raised my brows a bit at my husband. I highly doubted he would have been well suited for the discipline of either the Army or the Navy, but I understood his meaning. He just wished his father had given him some useful occupation, instead of sending him out to Jamaica. For it was in Jamaica all of Edward's troubles had begun.

Nicholas abandoned his play and came to his father, demanding his attention. The Captain sat down and obliged. Nicholas babbled to him in his baby way for a moment. I could make out only what sounded like 'Caleb' in the string of sounds.

"He wants to know where Caleb and the other children are," the Captain translated for Edward and I. "They are downstairs, just coming in from the snow, and Mrs. Fairfax has made them cups of hot chocolate," he told his son, scooping him up into his arms.

"Fairfax has sent the Captain and I to bring the rest of you down as well," Edward added. As usual he had to help me from my chair, and he held my arm most solicitously as we descended the stairs to the first floor.

"What ever happened to your middle brother, Spencer?" Edward asked.

"I am afraid the poor devil's regiment got shipped to India and he died of a fever within a month. That was many years ago now. But that is why my wife insisted our own second son be christened 'Nicholas.' That part I do not object to so much, but 'Nicholas Edmund,' if you please?" He snorted.

"Edmund is your brother as well, my dear," his wife gently chided.

"Humpf," said the Captain. Here again I sensed there was a great deal more he should have liked to say about the Earl, but, like the gentleman he was, he remained silent on the matter.

We went into the parlour and found the three older children gathered around the table. They were all damp from snow and sweat and rosy cheeked from the January cold. As we entered they were already devouring the bread and butter sent up from the kitchen on their behalf. There was also a large pot of chocolate and another of coffee on the tray.

Captain Spencer set Nicholas down, and he immediately ran to join his brother, uncle, and Adele.

I was pleased to see Caleb lower his cup of chocolate to his baby brother and help him take a careful sip.

"Give him just a taste, Caleb," Mrs. Spencer cautioned. "Cocoa is too rich for very small children."

"Yes, Mama," Caleb agreed.

I poured out coffee for the adults, and we sat down and resumed our conversation.

"And all your brothers, Mrs. Spencer? Do they all bear family names as well?" I asked my friend.

"No, they do not. Well, the third brother, the one just younger than I, is named Portius, after our father. But the other five have names my parents selected, either after people they knew, or just ones they liked."

"I imagine the task of naming seven children does rather give one scope for the imagination," Edward chuckled.

"Of course, my parents always insisted they both agree on the name before settling upon it," Mrs. Spencer explained as she lifted Nicholas onto her lap. "As you can imagine, each blessed event inevitably led to a great deal of healthy debate in our household."

"Papa told me once he had always liked the name 'Chauncey,' but it was only when I was born that my mother finally agreed to it," young Wheeler offered.

I smiled at him. It was surprising to see how much he had grown. He was now approaching sixteen, and not only taller but broader of shoulder as well. Some of the lankiness of early adolescence had left him. He was, as I had predicted to Edward he would be, a very handsome boy.

In fact, it was in this cozy family moment that for the first time I noticed Adele seemed to have a certain regard for Chauncey. In spite of the fact that an hour before she had been hurtling snowballs at him, she now stared at him over the rim of her cup with shining eyes. When she saw I had perceived this she glanced away from me with a blush.

I observed the two young people very carefully after that, but of course I saw no symptoms of particular regard in Master Chauncey. He spoke kindly to Adele, but of course he had been raised to always speak politely to the opposite sex. He showed the same respect to me, to Mrs. Fairfax, and to every other female he encountered. He was patient with her, always endeavoring to teach her new things, but he did the same with his two young nephews. In him I saw nothing but a well-raised young man who treated Adele with the same mixture of condescension and casual affection one might show a younger sister.

But Adele, I fear, did not regard him as a brother. She was nearly twelve, certainly not yet a young woman, but she had always had a romantic nature. Chauncey Wheeler was handsome, he was kind to her, and he was close by. I could understand why she might fancy herself attached to him.

What troubled me were not Adele's sentiments, whatever they might be, for the boy. I knew in my heart Chauncey Wheeler would always do his best to spare her feelings. I was more concerned about what this romantic streak might bode for Adele's future. I knew how much she wanted to be loved by everyone she met. That was perhaps excusable in a child, but a young woman who was too willing to give her heart away might land herself in all sorts of trouble.

At first I resolved to say nothing of this to my master. When he and I had first met he had often impugned Adele's character on the grounds her behavior was too much like her mother's. He had long since ceased making those painful comparisons aloud, and I knew him to be pleased with all the progress she had made. But I was loath to bring up such a painful subject again.

But one evening, as I sat in bed endeavoring to read a book, I found that I had been focusing so on this matter that I had read the same page three times. With a sigh, I set the book aside and gently nudged my husband.

"Edward, are you awake?"

"No, I am asleep, wife," he muttered into the pillow.

"Edward, there is a matter I wish to speak to you about. It has been troubling me for some days now, and I fear I will not be able to sleep until I reach some resolution in my mind. I want to know if you think I should speak to Adele."

"You speak to Adele all the time," Edward grumbled sleepily.

"That is not what I mean. I want to know if you think I should speak to her about…life."

My master pushed himself up on his elbow and stared at me. "Life?" He repeated.

I tried not to blush. "About women and…men." I rested my hands on my swollen belly so he would better understand what I meant.

He did.

"Ah," he said, sitting up. "Why? Or rather, why now? She is only eleven."

"She will be twelve soon."

"And surely she is learning these things at school."

"Edward, no teacher would dream of imparting such information to a child. That would be unheard of! Adele may certainly be hearing…things from the other girls, but there is no telling how accurate that information may be."

I briefly explained to Edward my concerns, being careful to not blame Adele's character, but rather her youth, inexperience, and loving heart.

"I fear I should not be doing my duty to Adele if I do not begin to warn her now of the…dangers that lie in wait. Unless," I added hopefully, "you think her mother might have done so?"

Edward rubbed his hand across his good eye. "_La Varens_, trouble herself to instill values in her child? Certainly not. Adele was never anything more than a pet to her, and certainly the mother's behavior would not have set an example of virtue, either."

He sighed. "But I do believe Adele adored her mother nonetheless. Madame Frédéric told Adele her mother had died rather than let her face the truth—that she had run off with yet another man. And Sophie and I allowed the pretense to continue."

I thought on this for a moment. "I think Adele knows the truth about her mother, Edward, or at least a part of it. She is a more perceptive child than you credit."

He looked at me seriously. "And you truly believe Adele is vulnerable?"

"Not now—not yet. But in a few years, when she is fifteen or sixteen, she may be capable of making a very bad choice. All girls may be. We raise them to be pretty, to be quiet and affectionate, to pin their hopes on a good marriage, and then we punish them if they transgress."

I thought of my own mother as I said this. How painful it must have been to be cast out by her family for love of my father! But at least she had left them for the safe harbour of matrimony. I hoped that my young parents had finally found some measure of happiness together during their brief tenure on this Earth.

"You were only eighteen when you came to Thornfield, Jane," my master asked me. "Did you feel vulnerable then?"

"I felt safer at Thornfield than I had anywhere else in my life before," I answered truthfully.

He snorted. "You should not have, Jane. You were in a great deal of danger, from myself, most of all. I nearly succeeded in tricking you into matrimony."

"But when it came to it you allowed me the choice," I argued. "As I knew in my heart you would. Few men would have been so scrupulous."

"Scrupulous?" He laughed bitterly. "That is probably the last word I should use to describe my behavior then."

"We are speaking of Adele, sir," I reminded him gently, "not of you and I. That time is over and done with."

He gazed up at the canopy of our bed.

"It is your decision, Janet," he offered finally. "You are the closest thing to a mother she has."

"Then I will have a talk with her, and impart only such things as a girl of twelve might need to know," I said resolutely. "The rest can wait until she is older."

"Good." Edward looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he laughed, laying his arm across his face.

"What is so amusing?"

"I was only thinking, my dear." He laid a hand against my stomach. "Suddenly I rather hope this one is indeed a boy. I would dread having to have this conversation with you again in twelve years time."

"I understand. Of course," I said a trifle smugly, "you do realize that, if our baby is a boy, it will be _you_ who must have this conversation with _him _in twelve years time?"

I blew out the candle, and took some satisfaction in knowing Edward lay awake next to me long after I had fallen asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Ch. 12

A few days before Adele was scheduled to return to school I had my conversation with her. I had of course promised Edward I would, but I waited until the day Mrs. Bates, the village dressmaker, visited Atherton to prepare Adele's spring wardrobe. I knew nothing put Adele in a better mood than pouring over fashion plates and fabric samples.

Fortunately Mrs. Bates was a sensible woman with young daughters of her own. She was able to convince Adele to let her refashion and take down the hems of her existing dresses. To my amazement, once this work was done Adele agreed with Mrs. Bates that she really only needed a new white lawn dress and one new bonnet for the coming months.

Once the dressmaker had departed I sat down with my former pupil in the parlour. I had Mrs. Fairfax bring the tea tray, and, for this occasion, I allowed Adele to have tea as well, so long as her cup was mostly milk.

As she sipped, her dark eyes slipped to my waist, or rather where my waist had once been.

"May I?" Adele asked with a small blush, as she always did.

Several of the ladies in the neighborhood had advised that I try to conceal as much of my condition as possible from Adele, lest it raise awkward questions in her impressionable mind. But I did not want Adele to be as woefully ignorant of human biology as I had been. I had known only what I had been able to piece together from books—that procreation involved a man, a woman, and some mysterious activity never discussed in public. The full details had not been revealed to me until my wedding night. Fortunately Edward had been a more than patient husband.

I picked up Adele's small hand and laid it on my stomach so she could feel the baby kick. The child I carried was growing larger and more active by the day. Adele giggled to feel it move. No tales of babies found under cabbage leaves for her! She was yet full young for me to explain exactly _how_ it had been conceived, but I made sure she understood the baby had been created by Edward and I the same way all married couples had children. I felt that was enough for now, but determined to revisit the subject when she was fourteen or fifteen and both more physically and emotionally mature.

"I wish I could be here when it is born," she said, a trifle longingly. "Perhaps you might send for me when it is time…?"

I laughed. "That is very sweet, Adele, but it does not work that way. This baby will come on its own schedule. You must go back to school, and study hard, and try not to worry. Mr. Rochester and I will send you the news as soon as it happens, I promise. And when you come home for the summer you will be able to play with him or her."

"I hope it is a little girl. I could dress her up and put ribbons in her hair."

"If it is a little boy you will love it just as much."

"I suppose so." She was thoughtful for a moment. "And I suppose…I will be like his or her sister or aunt, yes? Like Chauncey is with Nicholas and Caleb. I will help take care of her, and teach her many things?"

I smiled. There was the remotest of possibilities that Adele really was related to the baby I carried. Edward had never believed he was Adele's father, but he provided for her nonetheless. For my own part, I did not think she was Edward's child. She was too dissimilar to him, in looks, in manner, and in character. But I doubted there would ever be a way to prove Adele's paternity one way or another. And it really no longer mattered. She was as much a part of our family as this new child.

I squeezed her hand. "Of course, Adele. Of course."

I sat back in my chair. "Now, Adele, I wished to speak to you on another matter. I could not hope but notice how you have been following Chauncey Wheeler about all winter."

"Oh, but _Madame_ Jane, we have only been playing…"

I held up a hand. "I know, Adele, but do let me finish. I believe you have developed some…attachment to him. Am I correct?"

Adele listened to me solemnly. Clearly a trifle chastened, she sighed.

"Yes, _Madame_. I suppose I have. I think perhaps he is my _beau_, yes?"

"Hmm. Has he given you any…encouragement to think of him in those terms?"

"He has taught me to ride, and sled, and to make the snowballs! I am sure he likes me very much."

I had to clear my throat. "I am sure he does, my dear, but that does not make him your beau. I do not think he would like being thought of in such a manner."

"But many of the other girls at school have sweethearts at home! Why should I be left out?" She said plaintively. "And Chauncey is very handsome, is he not? Maryanne showed me the miniature of her beau, and, _ciel_, such ears he had! Chauncey has very fine ears."

Now things were becoming clearer. "Adele," I said firmly, "Chauncey does like you, but not in that way."

My former pupil looked wounded. "You do not think it would be an eligible match? Because of," she asked, her bottom lip quivering just a bit, "of who I am?"

Clearly what I had told Edward had been the truth. Adele was indeed now old enough to be aware of who, and what, her mother had been. I quickly put my arms about her.

"That is not what I mean at all. You are as fine a girl as ever breathed, Adele. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. But Chauncey is many years away from needing or wanting a wife, _any_ wife. Do not forget that in a few months he will be sent out to sea with one of his brothers. He is yet too young, and you are _certainly_ too young, for such an attachment. Now, how old is this Maryanne?"

Adele looked at her hands, twined in her lap. "Sixteen."

"And the other girls at school, the ones who claim to have sweethearts, they are the oldest girls, are they not?"

She nodded.

"You see, Adele, when a young lady is sixteen, and preparing to leave school—when she wears her hair up, and her skirts long, then she may consider having a beau, if she chooses. So long as he is a respectable young man and her family approves," I explained patiently. "But pray do not forget that Mr. Rochester and I sent you to Mrs. Abbott's to go to school and to learn. Surely she does to approve of such talk?"

Adele looked shamefaced. "No, _Madame_. She always becomes very annoyed, and tells us not to be silly girls who think only of boys, but to fill our minds with knowledge, instead."

I nodded firmly. "There, you see? I know you want to feel grown-up, Adele. But you have many, many years ahead of you to be a grown-up lady. I would rather see you enjoy being a girl for the time being. Give yourself a chance to grow up before you pin your hopes on any one young man, however worthy he may be."

"Yes, _Madame_ Rochester," Adele said softly.

"So," I said a bit more cheerfully, "let us have no more starry-eyed gazes. For a few more years at least. Do you promise me that?"

Adele nodded solemnly. "If that is what you wish. I would do anything you asked of me."

"I know that, Adele. I know."

¶

Adele left for school in the middle of a very gloomy January. That month gave way to a bitterly cold February, and February to a blustery March. With my own delicate condition to consider, Edward and I stayed close to home. The initial excitement in the neighborhood appeared to have finally worn off, and only close friends, such as Mrs. Spencer and Mrs. White, continued to call and to assist in the preparations for the birth of my first child.

I continued to correspond regularly with Diana and with Mary. The latter was anticipating her own lying-in with the same mixture of trepidation and hope I was experiencing. In every letter she apologized again for keeping Diana from me, but I assured her I was quite content with the situation.

The last day of March dawned unseasonably warm. The air seemed still after the high winds of the previous weeks. After breakfast I carefully made my way back up to my room. The cradle Edward had ordered had finally arrived. A large, intricately carved affair, suspended from an elegantly arched frame, it took pride of place at the end of the bed. It had taken John and two footmen to get that cradle up the stairs to the second floor. I had not had the heart to tell them it should have to be moved again, upstairs to the third floor nursery, when the baby was a little older. In fact, the cradle was so large that, as an experiment, Mrs. Spencer and I had placed little Nicholas into it. We had found that, although now more than a year old, he fit into it quite comfortably. Of course, he had insisted on being removed from it immediately on the grounds he was "not bay-bee!"

"I fear you are anticipating a larger infant than I can deliver," I had told Edward that evening, making him laugh.

This morning I was finishing the net curtains that would drape around it. I was absolutely determined that only my own handiwork would go into making them. As I sewed I surveyed the room with satisfaction. Dr. McKay was predicting the baby would arrive before the end of April, but everything was already in order. The room next door had been cleaned and aired and the bed made up new, for it would be where Edward would sleep while the baby was with me. I suppose that room should have been Edward's chamber all along, but we had never slept apart, as more fashionable couples did. A chest next to the cradle already held a trove of tiny gowns, blankets, and the soft bands Catherine had taught me how to make, to ones that would wrap around and protect the baby's navel as it healed.

As if he or she understood my thoughts the baby rolled over and kicked sharply, causing me to draw a breath. I rubbed my belly soothingly. The child was active all the time now, particularly at night. I will confess I had not been sleeping well, and I was growing daily more uncomfortable. The weather did not help, either: I finally went to the window and threw it open, hoping to catch a breeze. Unfortunately the air it admitted was stale and warm. I could see no signs of the usual March rains, only a curious yellowish-black streak of color in the sky to the south.

There was a knock at the door, and a moment later Mrs. Fairfax entered.

"Begging your pardon, Mrs. Rochester, but the Jones' girl, Sarah, is here to see you and the master. She says she was sent for."

I turned away from the window. "Oh, good. She is the girl Mrs. Spencer recommended to us as a nursemaid. Is my husband in his study?"

"Yes, ma'am. The oldest daughter, Katie, came along, too, for support, I suppose. With your permission I shall take her down to the kitchen so we can visit while you and Mr. Rochester have your interview."

I followed Mrs. Fairfax down the stairs, surreptitiously rubbing my lower back. It had begun to ache the night before, and the pain was still nagging at me a bit. But both Catherine and Dr. McKay had assured me that such aches and pains were to be expected this far along.

I found my master waiting for me. He frowned at me as I entered. "My dear, are you sure you do not want to sent to London for a nursemaid? Mrs. Fairfax tells me this Sarah Jones is not more than seventeen."

"She is eighteen, actually, Edward," I corrected him as I sat down as carefully as I could, relieved to be off my feet again. "And we have had this discussion before. If she is anything like her elder sister I believe she shall suit us admirably."

Edward sighed. "Then we shall speak to her, if you wish."

"Be nice to her, Edward," I cautioned him. I sat quietly while Mrs. Fairfax brought in our potential nursemaid.

She was a tall, stout girl like her sister, with red-brown hair and a round, pleasant face. I could tell she was apprehensive as she stood before us on the hearth. I remembered how intimidating Edward had looked when he and I had had our first meeting. With his blind eye and missing hand he looked even more so now, to the point that strangers were often afraid to approach him. But to her credit Miss Jones held her head up high and answered all of Edward's questions frankly.

"How old are you, Miss Jones?"

"Eighteen, sir."

"And your father is a farmer, correct? He has the place just the other side of Dovecote, off the Birmingham road?"

"Yes, sir." 

"I have seen it. Seems a pleasant enough place. And you presently work for Reverend and Miss Bunting, correct?"

"Yes, sir. I am a maid-of-all-work."

"Hum." Edward glanced over at me. "And yet you now desire a position as a nursemaid?"

"I do, sir." The girl looked hopefully at me. "I haven't worked as a nurse before, but I've helped raise a passel of brothers and sisters. And I love babies. I'd very much like to work for you and Mrs. Rochester, sir, if you please."

My master raised his brows to me, signaling that I should ask any questions I liked.

I gestured to the girl. "Miss Jones, come and sit opposite me, if you would."

She looked hesitant for a moment, but finally did as I bade. She nervously smoothed the skirt of her dress, and straightened her bonnet. I was suddenly reminded of myself that first day at Thornfield, when I had worried so about Mrs. Fairfax's first impressions of me.

I smiled at her. "Now, tell me about your brothers and sisters, if you please. How many are boys, and how many girls?"

She seemed to relax a bit. "There are five girls, mum. The oldest is Katherine. We call her Katie. She works for the Spencers over at Lansdowne."

"I have met her. She is a very nice girl."

Sarah beamed. "She is indeed, mum. And then there are five boys all well. Two are grown, but the others are all younger than myself."

"And your youngest sibling is…?"

"Johnny is just a year, mum. And a sweeter babe you've never seen. I've helped care for him, and all the little ones, since they was born. I know ever so much about babies—how to feed them, change them, rock them to sleep…" She glanced at my belly for a moment, and then glanced away with a blush. "I would appreciate the chance to show you, mum," she finally said softly. "I'm sure I could give satisfaction if you'd just take me on."

Edward cleared his throat. "Will you be so good as to step out of the room for a moment, Miss Jones, while I speak to my wife?"

"Of course, sir."

As soon as the door closed behind her my husband looked at me.

"Are you sure you want to take her on, Jane? She seems sturdy enough, but as green as grass. Would you not rather have a properly-trained nurse to help you?"

"I told you before, Edward, I do not care about training. Character matters more." My back twinged again as I spoke. "Perhaps we could engage her for a trial period—say, a month, perhaps? And if she does not suit, then perhaps we can try your London nurse."

"That is a reasonable argument, as always, Janet. I daresay she could always return to the Buntings if…what on earth is that?"

"What, my dear?" I did not immediately hear anything, but then Edward's hearing had long been sharper than mine. I suppose his ears had begun to compensate for his limited vision.

He went to the window and threw it open. Without the thick glass to muffle the sound I, too, could hear the sound quite clearly. The church bells in Dovecote were ringing. Not the sedate peels that marked services, but a loud, steadily clanging that echoed across the valley.

Edward pulled out his pocket watch. "It is only half-past ten—no where near time for vespers. What the devil?"

He opened to door to the hall, where Mrs. Fairfax, the two Jones girls, and several footmen and maids were gathering, looking equally puzzled. With some difficulty I pushed myself out of my chair to join them.

Mrs. Fairfax frowned. "Such a commotion! They must be able to hear those bells on the other side of –shire," she complained.

"Begging your pardon sir, ma'am, but that may be the whole point," Katie Jones spoke up for the first time. "I haven't hear them ringing like that since I was little, but it means something's happened."

"I remember," Sarah added. "The last time they rang like that was when the King died."

"Perhaps something's happened here in the valley," John mused.

"Well, let us go and find out. John, fetch the carriage," Edward ordered. "Mrs. Fairfax, as there does not appear to be any immediate danger I believe you and the rest of the staff may safely return to your duties."

"Of course, sir." She shot a steely-eyed glance at the other servants, who quickly hurried away. John patted his wife Maria on the arm comfortingly and then hurried off to the coach house.

Once Mrs. Fairfax and Maria returned to their work only the two Jones girls remained, looking worried and a trifle unsure as to what they should do next. Edward regarded them seriously.

"I am afraid we shall have to cut things a bit short under the circumstances, Miss Jones," he told Sarah. "My wife would like to take you on on a trial basis, if that would suit."

Both girls beamed.

"It would indeed, sir," Sarah told him.

"I would be obliged if you would stay here until I return. My wife can discuss your duties with you in more detail, and Fairfax can show you the nursery and where you will sleep."

"Of course, sir."

"If you would not mind, sir, I shall stay as well," Katie asked. "Today is my day off, and I'd like to be able to tell Mama and Papa about where Sarah'll be staying."

"As you wish." Edward's expression softened a bit as he turned to me and took my hand.

"You will be all right on your own, will you not, Jane?"

"I am hardly 'on my own,' Edward, with a houseful of servants, am I?" I said tartly. "Go along, and find out what all the commotion is. I shall have Mrs. Fairfax keep back nuncheon if you are delayed."

Even though we were not alone, my husband gave me a quick kiss on the forehead and then went to find John and the carriage. Perhaps it was my aches and pains, or that the church bells had jangled my nerves a bit, but I almost burst into tears as the front door closed behind him. But I put on a brave smile and turned back to my new nursemaid and her sister.

"Well, now. I think first we should have a bit of refreshment," I proposed. "And then I shall have Mrs. Fairfax show you the house."

We did exactly that. I had a pot of tea and a tray with a few sandwiches upon it brought into the parlour. I did not feel well enough to eat anything, but I was happy to give both Sarah and Katie their cups and to pass around the tray. Both girls looked a little nervous to be sitting with me, as I was the lady of the house, but I did my best to put them at their ease. I encouraged them to speak more about their parents, and their siblings, and Katie shared some of her best stories of Caleb and Nicholas' pranks over the years. By the time Mrs. Fairfax returned a half-an-hour later I felt more certain than ever that Sarah would be an excellent addition to the Atherton household.

Mrs. Fairfax took the two Jones girls off to survey the nursery. I did not have the energy to climb two flights of stairs; in truth, I was not sure I had the energy to return to my room for my usual afternoon rest. And I will confess I wanted to see Edward the moment he returned and find out what had occasioned so much excitement down in the village.

I sat quietly in the parlour as long as I could stand to do so, and then went into the main hall. As I fussed with a vase of flowers and straightened a picture or two I finally heard hoof beats approaching. For a moment I hoped Edward was back, but soon realized I heard only a horse, and not the carriage. A footman opened the door in time for me to see Chauncey Wheeler riding up on his roan mare. He jumped down without waiting for assistance, and I noted both he and his animal were panting.

"My goodness, Chauncey, what is it?" I asked from the doorway. "Come in and sit down. Nothing is wrong at Lansdowne, I trust?"

"No, Mrs. Rochester. And thank you, but I cannot stay," he gasped. He stood holding his horse's reins. "I only bring news from Dovecote. Mr. Rochester asked me to tell you that he and Dr. McKay are even now on their way down to Tate village. Reverend Bunting and a few of the other men are going as well. There has been a terrible accident there. That is why the bells were ringing."

I knew Tate was a small town a few miles down the River --, but little more about it. "What happened?"

"One of the furnaces in a foundry blew up early this morning, ma'am. Killed the men unlucky enough to be standing near it, and then spread a fire into the worker's quarters as well. Fortunately most folk were up and about already, so only a few lives were lost there, but the families lost everything."

I pressed my hand to my mouth. "How terrible." I had spent most of my life in the country, but I had read about the dangers that plagued many of the region's industrial towns. The mills, foundries, and factories that helped keep Britain strong often operated with little regard for their workers' lives, and, even if they did, accidents were a common occurrence. My eyes were drawn again to the hazy sky to the south. "It was the fire that made the sky look so strange," I murmured, more to myself than to the boy.

He nodded anyway. "I daresay it was." He looked solemn. "They say most folks down in Tate were pretty bad off even before this. The doctor has gone to help those he can, and Mr. Rochester and Reverend Bunting want to see what else can be done. Mr. Rochester was worried to leave you, Mrs. Rochester, I could tell. So I finally promised to ride right over and let you know what was happening."

"And I do appreciate it, Chauncey," I said truthfully. "You are a very kind boy."

He blushed beet red. "Thank you, Mrs. Rochester. Now, if you do not mind I need to ride over to the Whites and the Langs and let them know what is happening."

"Of course. Off you go, then, but do be careful."

I stood aside as Chauncey mounted again. With a skittering of gravel under hoofs, horse and boy road off down the lane.

As soon as I stepped back into the house I spied Mrs. Fairfax coming down the stairs with the two Miss Joneses. I thought quickly about what my own household might do to help our unfortunate neighbors.

"Mrs. Fairfax, there you are. I am afraid there has been an accident down the river." I apprised her of events as quickly as I could. "Mr. Rochester has gone down to see what might be done. I thought we might gather up clothing and household goods to send. It sounds as if many families will be needing anything we can give."

In a trice Mrs. Fairfax, bless her, had the maids organized into a veritable phalanx to scour the attics. Both Katie and Sarah volunteered to help as well, and the lot trooped off in search of useful items. Atherton's attics were quite full, and I was confident that Fairfax would oversea the young women's efforts beautifully. I also sent word down to Maria in the kitchen to see what could be spared from the larder.

Wanting to contribute as well, I decided to take charge to cataloging what we found. I went into Edward's study to gather up pen and paper. No sooner had I bent over the desk, however, than a sharp pain seized me. I clutched the edge of the open drawer until my knuckles grew white, but the pain subsided as quickly as it had begun.

The backache that had plagued me all morning I could perhaps dismiss, but now I was genuinely frightened. My baby was not anticipated for another three weeks. Was something wrong?

I stood still and tried to breathe steadily. I wanted to call for assistance, but it was as if I was suddenly rooted to the carpet. Several minutes passed. My heart beat franticly in my chest, but there were no more pains. Feeling that the danger had passed, I finally forced myself to move. At the door to study I called for Mrs. Fairfax and Maria, trying to keep my tone at a level befitting the mistress of the Rochester estates.

Maria appeared from below stairs, wiping her hands on her apron. "I was thinking we should send those fine hams the butcher sent up last week, ma'am, as well as this week's baking," she was saying as she came into the hall. "Those poor folk will need all the nourishment they can get…Bless me, Mrs. Rochester, but you're as white as a sheet! Are you all right?"

"I am not sure, Maria," I said in a strangled tone. "I think perhaps I should lie down. I want to go to my room." I realized I sounded like a frightened child, but that was in truth how I felt.

Maria very quickly understood my distress, and took me by the arm. I leaned against her gratefully.

"Shall I summon a footman, ma'am? I daresay Charlie or George could carry you up."

"No, I think if you would just be so good as to assist me I could make it up the stairs on my own."

With Maria's help I carefully ascended. My back was aching fiercely again, but the sharp pain did not return. Clearly I had overtired myself, or it may have been all the commotion that brought on my trouble. I breathed a deep sigh of relief when Maria and I reached my room. She was now looking as concerned as I felt.

"Do let me fetch Mrs. Fairfax," she advised. "She'll send someone for Mr. Rochester and the doctor."

"No, they shall be halfway to Tate by now." I sat heavily on the edge of my bed. "It is nothing, I am sure. I have just tried to do too much today. I think I shall try to sleep for awhile."

"As you like, ma'am." With the familiarity of our long acquaintance, Maria not only helped move my pillows but even covered me with an afghan before she left the room.

As I lay staring up at the canopy I wished desperately for Edward to return. Why had I let him go that morning? I should have insisted he stay at Atherton. We had promised each other no more gallivanting about, and here he was off again, albeit for a humanitarian cause. I should have kept him with me…

And, so thinking, I finally fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Ch. 13

I was dreaming.

_In the dream I was sitting before the fire. Suddenly it swelled and filled my view, and I could see it was spreading, burning through a squalid maze of cramped workers' quarters. I could hear people crying, but the smoke was so thick I could not see anyone…_

_And the suddenly the dream changed again, and it was Thornfield I was watching burn. Flames were licking the rafters, and the air around it glowed with embers. I rushed towards the house, thinking Edward was inside, that I had to warn him. But as I got closer I realized to my horror my own dress had caught fire. I tried to cry out, but I could make no sound. I pounded frantically at the flames with my fists, but I could not put them out. I could feel pain wracking my body as I flailed helplessly…_

I woke with a start. The gripping pain had returned. I was curled on my side with my arm around my belly, and I struggled to keep breathing as it seemed to seize my entire body in a giant's grip. Finally, mercifully, it subsided, and only then did I realize someone was pounding on my door.

"Mrs. Rochester? Are you all right?"

I recognized the voice as Mrs. Fairfax's.

"Come in at once, Mrs. Fairfax, please" I gasped.

She entered with the speed of a ship at full sail. "My dear J—Mrs. Rochester, I have been trying to wake you these past five minutes! I was not sure if…"

"You did the right thing, Mrs. Fairfax. I am afraid I am unwell."

She blanched. "Oh, dear. Maria said something of the kind. The doctor has gone down to Tate, has he not? But then, perhaps he will be on his way back by now?"

"Pray let me think for a moment." With great difficulty I pushed myself into a sitting position. I needed to make a decision before the pains began again. I was frightened, but I was also frightened that I would alarm Mrs. Fairfax unnecessarily. I needed help. I was not sure if something was wrong, or if my labor had begun too early…

"Mrs. Fairfax, I want you to send for Mrs. Spencer over at Lansdowne," I finally decided. "Tell her she must come at once, that I am in distress and need her council."

"Of course, Mrs. Rochester." I could tell she was relieved at last to have something to do. "I shall do so, at once."

While she hurried off I lay my head back down and tried not to cry. I did not know what was happening to me. What if my baby was in danger? What if no one came? Oh, where was Edward? Evening was beginning to come on outside, I could tell by the lengthening shadows being cast on the walls. What if some trouble had befallen him on the road?

The pain began again, and for several minutes I was unable to think of anything, even Edward…

I do not know how long I lay there, but finally I heard voices in the hall, and then Catherine was at my side, as if heaven had given her wings. She still had on her bonnet, but she bent down and gripped my hand.

"Dear Jane, do not frightened. It will all be all right."

Even though Mrs. Fairfax, Maria, and even the two Jones girls were hovering in the open doorway, I could not suppress a small sob.

"Catherine, I fear something is wrong with the baby. And Edward is not here…"

She smoothed the hair from my brow. "Nonsense. Nothing is wrong. Your labor has begun, that is all."

I shook my head. "It cannot have. The baby is not to come until Easter, and that is three weeks away. I have not even begun my lying-in yet…"

"You are lying-in now," Catherine said in her sensible way. "And a baby comes at a time of its own choosing—you have said so yourself on more than one occasion." She straightened up and removed her hat and cloak. She began to issue orders to the servants, and her face lit up when she espied Katie Jones.

"Ah, Katie, how fortuitous! And Sarah, too! Well, the Lord does provide, does he not? Sarah, be so good as to run over to your mother's house and tell her we have need of her services. You shall take my carriage, if you please—it is just downstairs."

"Yes, ma'am." Sarah dropped a quick curtsey and rushed off. A moment later Maria did the same thing, with an order to begin boiling water.

"What is the boiling water for?" I asked apprehensively.

"Nothing, at the moment, save keep Maria occupied," Catherine said briskly. "Now, Mrs. Fairfax…"

My poor housekeeper was looking rather alarmed at the turn in events. I was abruptly reminded that, although she had been married, Mrs. Fairfax had never had any children.

Catherine cleared her throat. "Mrs. Fairfax, perhaps you should go into the hall and sit down for awhile. I shall call you if you are needed."

"Thank you, Mrs. Spencer," Mrs. Fairfax said weakly. "I am afraid I have never…ah…"

"Go along now," Catherine ordered gently. When Fairfax was gone, my friend turned to her nursemaid. "Katie, if you will assist me, let us help Mrs. Rochester into some fresh clothes so she will be more comfortable."

I had no choice but to be tended like a small child. I was abruptly reminded of the time, as a little girl, I had been sick at Gateshead, and Betsey had tended me. As the two other women eased me back against the pillows, I seized Catherine's hand again.

"Catherine, Edward is gone with Dr. McKay down to Tate," I said fearfully. "He should never forgive himself if…if…"

"I have already taken the liberty of sending the Captain after them," she told me. "I daresay he shall intercept them on the Birmingham road and have them here before the moon is up."

"Truthfully?" I said weakly.

"Truthfully, my dear Jane."

I do not know how I should have managed the next few hours without Mrs. Spencer. The pains were coming more frequently now, and growing in intensity. Katie and Catherine held my hands, encouraging me through each one.

Mrs. Jones the midwife finally appeared. She proved to be a small person, with a face as round as a dumpling and the same smile as her daughters. But she immediately rolled up her sleeves and began to bustle about most efficiently, and I could see at once why Dr. McKay had recommended her. She spoke to me in a calming voice, and even found a job for Mrs. Fairfax, shuttling clean water and towels back and forth to the room.

I found that the only way I could bear the pain was to detach myself from it completely. It was a strategy that had served me well in the past during times of hunger or great fatigue. Lying in that great bed my mind drifted away from the room, and indeed from the house, until I was somewhere else entirely, where the pain could no longer reach me…

It was Edward's voice that called me back. I could feel his hand on my sweat-damp forehead, his lips pressing there. "Janet, my darling…"

I wanted to tell him how pleased I was that he had returned, or perhaps scold him for being absent for so long. But another pain quickly rolled me into its terrible coils, and I could not speak. Instead I hear Dr. McKay's soft burr, as if from a long distance off.

"It should not be too much longer now, Mr. Rochester. You shall only be underfoot here. You should go downstairs and wait with Captain Spencer."

"I wish to stay with Jane," Edward was saying, in his stubborn way.

"Of course you _wish_ to, but you _shall _not," Mrs. Spencer was responding. "Go downstairs, and I shall come and get you myself when it is all over. I give you my word."

I felt Edward bush one last kiss across my hair, and then he was gone.

I shall not describe to you exactly what transpired next, reader. Instead I shall let you see the goings-on downstairs.

There, Edward in his study paces back and forth. He pours himself a brandy, forgets to drink it, and pours another one. He promptly forgets that one as well.

Captain Spencer tries to coax him into a game of chess, or of whist, or of anything that will take Edward's mind off the titanic struggle taking place upstairs. But Edward, already worn down by the day's events, rubs his good eye and offers a most insulting response to such suggestions. Captain Spencer, mindful of the circumstances, does not take offence.

The two men continue on in this matter until finally, with the sky outside as black as ink and most of the servants asleep, Mrs. Spencer makes her way downstairs.

"You may come upstairs now," she tells Edward in her gentlest voice. "It is all over, and everything is fine."

¶

I was finally beginning to regain my senses when Edward was brought to me. I was exhausted and weak from my efforts, but I was proud to have the tiny bundle in the crook of my arm to show him.

"We have a son, Edward," I told him softly. With a weary arm I pushed back the blanket so my master could see the tiny head with its downy thatch of dark hair.

Edward sat quietly in the chair Mrs. Jones had placed next to my bed.

"Catherine, come and help me," I said. "I want Edward to hold the baby."

With a knowing smile my friend took my son from my arms and handed him to his father, making sure that Edward bent his good arm just so to support the featherweight.

Edward opened his mouth, but I could tell he was not certain whether he wanted to protest or not.

"We never agreed on a name," I reminded my husband.

"No, we did not." Edward was clearly distracted.

"He shall need a name," I prodded. "We cannot simply call him 'boy.' What would Miss Bunting say?"

That made Edward laugh. In his arms the baby started a bit, and opened his eyes wide to try to see what had made the sound.

Our son had inherited Edward's eyes as they once were—large, brilliant, and black.

"God had been very good to us, has he not, Edward?"

Edward smiled at me, and at his son. "He has indeed, Janet. He has indeed."

We sat quietly for a moment.

"Of course, I had anticipated a girl, so I could name her for her dear mother," Edward finally offered. "But, since this one is here instead, I rather fancy calling him James. That sounds rather like Jane, does it not? He shall be James Eyre Rochester."

"James Edward Eyre Rochester," I corrected sleepily. In my weariness I was finding it almost impossible to keep my eyes open any longer.

"Of course, my dear," I heard Edward say indulgently as I drifted off to sleep. "Just as you wish."

¶

When I awoke again the early morning sun was just beginning to light the room. I reached immediately for my baby, but found my arms empty. Alarmed, I tried to sit up, but Edward quickly pressed me back.

"Hush, now, Janet, or you shall wake our son. He is asleep in his cradle, just at your feet," he soothed.

And of course Edward was right. The baby—James—was dozing in his cradle at the foot of the bed. I wanted him back in my arms, but for the moment I contented myself with looking at my husband. He was bleary-eyed and unshaven, and I noticed for the first time that the faint odor of smoke still clung to his clothes. Of course in all the excitement I had forgotten the errand that had taken Edward from me the day before.

"Edward, you have not sat with me all this time? Surely you need sleep, and a hot meal…"

"There is no place I would rather be at the moment, Janet, than right here. And Mrs. Fairfax did bring me up some food, just an hour or two ago. She offers her heartiest congratulations, by the way."

I nodded. Now that the room was better lit I could see Mrs. Jones seated by the fire, at a discrete distance from Edward and myself. She was knitting away busily.

Seeing the direction of my gaze, Edward smiled. "She and Dr. McKay have been taking turns looking in on you. McKay was worn out, however, so Mrs. Jones and I prevailed upon him to get some rest. He is now quite comfortable in a room down the hall, although as soon as he is awake I daresay he will be on the road again."

"And those poor people down in Tate, Edward? Was the doctor able to…"

My master sighed heavily. "Let us not speak of that just now, if you please, Jane. This is the happiest of days for me. I should like to keep it that way for a little while longer."

"As you wish, Edward. Have the Spencers gone home?"

"Yes, but Mrs. Spencer made me promise to tell you she will call again later today, if you would not object."

"Of course I should not object. I cannot imagine how I should have managed without her. Edward, if you agree I think we should ask Captain and Mrs. Spencer to stand as James' godparents. I cannot think of any two people I should rather have."

"I think that is an excellent idea, my dear."

As if he knew we were speaking of him, our son began to stir in his cradle. He issued a series of soft noises that quickly gave way to urgent cries.

In a trice Mrs. Jones was on her feet. She picked James up, but he quieted only a little. I was alarmed at how red his tiny sweet face had become, but Edward only chuckled.

"Listen to him!" Edward said proudly. "What a strong set of lungs."

Mrs. Jones brought the baby to the side of the bed and cleared her throat.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mrs. Rochester, but I believe the baby wants his breakfast."

"Oh! Oh, of course. I should have known that." I looked apologetically at Edward. "My dear, would you mind…?"

He held up his hands. "Of course, Janet. I shall excuse myself at once."

I took James into my arms, reveling in his soft weight. He quieted a bit when I was near, as if he knew I was his mother.

"Do try to get some sleep, Edward," I told my husband as he left the room. "You have had a very long day. Not perhaps so long as my own, but long nonetheless."

Edward laughed again, and carefully closed the door behind him so James and I could settle down to the business at hand.


	14. Chapter 14

Dear reader: Thank you for your patience and all your kind feedback—it has been a crazy couple of months, but hopefully now I can resume posting regularly. Enjoy.

Ch. 14

The arrival of baby James was the greatest of blessings. After all the commotion surrounding his birth, after the months of waiting and worry, nothing gave me more joy than simply holding him in my arms or watching him sleep.

I remained in bed for only a week. That was as long as I could bear the confinement. As Dr. McKay assured Edward that allowing me the run of the house while I recovered would do me no harm, soon as I was up and about, trying to oversee the household routine as best I could. I am pleased to say Sarah indeed proved ideal for her new position. She somehow contrived to simultaneously care for both James and myself and to move all of her belongings out of the Buntings and into Atherton so smoothly that I scare noticed her absence.

My baby's temperament also made these first days far smoother than they might have been otherwise. So long as he was fed and dry, James was a calm infant. He preferred contemplating the world around him with his wide, dark eyes to crying. Edward said James' expression at such moments reminded him uncannily of me. Since in all other ways James resembled Edward, I will confess I took a great deal of motherly pride in such a statement.

And my happiness was made complete when, three weeks after James' birth, Edward brought me the news for which I had been waiting. I had been trying my hand at bathing the baby unaided in a special tin bath brought upstairs for the purpose. James endured my awkward struggles with heroic complacence, but even so I had only just finished when Edward appeared holding a letter in his hand.

"It is from Moor House, my dear, just arrived in the morning post." He smiled at the sight of James, still damp and now towel-wrapped. "I believe it will contain the news for which you have been waiting.

"Oh, yes," I breathed. In my joy over the birth of my son I had of course not forgotten my cousin Mary's own lying-in. I had been awaiting the news most anxiously, and every post without news had been heightening my worry. I took the letter, and for a moment struggled to balance my baby in one arm and open the letter with my free hand. Edward wisely intervened and took James from me. He stood patiently to one side while I opened and read the missive with damp hands.

"Well?" He finally demanded, bouncing James gently in his arms. "What news? Good or bad?"

"Good." I smiled. "Most happy news. Mary has been safely delivered of a daughter. Diana writes that mother and daughter are in excellent health, and the father in excellent spirits." My smiled widened. "They have named her 'Jane.'"

"Then it is excellent news indeed." My master chuckled. "And what do you think of that news, my fine fellow?" Edward asked the baby. "You have a new cousin."

He glanced slyly at me. "What do you think, my dear? Shall we betroth them?"

"Do not tease, Edward. They are only infants."

I took James back, cradling him in my arms. He was not yet strong enough to hold up his own head, but he squinted up at me in recognition, and worked his rosebud mouth a bit into what I was certain was his attempt at a smile.

"Do not listen to your father, little one—you will find he has a rather curious sense of humour." I smoothed James' wet baby curls away from his little face.

"And your mother has a streak of stubborn impetuousness," Edward quickly shot back. "Imagine my surprise when I met your nurse downstairs and found out your mother was attempting to bathe you all by herself! But I am relieved to see you have not been too hard on her this morning."

"We managed very well, thank you," I said tartly. "Now do make yourself useful and bring me one of his gowns."

With Edward watching over my shoulder, James was soon dry, dressed, and back in his cradle for his mid-morning nap. He sucked contentedly on his tiny fingers as he drifted off to sleep, and my master and I watched him in happy silence until Sarah appeared with a pile of clean linen in her arms. The girl looked the very picture of an efficient nursemaid in her cap and starched apron.

She smiled and bobbed a polite curtsey at us. "Good morning, sir. Mum."

"He is down for his nap now, Sarah." I explained softly. "I believe Mr. Rochester and I shall go downstairs and try to catch up on our correspondence. But you will fetch me if he cries?"

"Of course, Mum."

Quickly, before we could be lulled into any more baby worship, Edward and I went downstairs to his study, where the aforementioned letters sat waiting.

The bond I had with James was deeper than any I had ever had with another living soul, save Edward. From his first moments on Earth it was as if James was a breathing, feeling piece of my heart. And, of course, in a way he was. But it was those very feelings that made it difficult for me to tear myself away from him, even to help my husband attend to business. Edward, I am happy to say, had anticipated this, and had already sorted out only those missives upon which he felt my input urgently needed. All the others, he insisted, could wait.

After a great flurry of writing and sealing, we came to the last one, from his London solicitor. This he insisted I read it over most carefully.

"It involves the provisions I have made for you and the baby, Jane."

"Oh, I trust you to do what is best, Edward," I said.

He smiled. "I know you do, my fairy. But James is son and heir, and so new papers are being drawn up. Should anything happen to me, you shall be in charge of the estates until James turns twenty-one."

"Twenty-one?" I thought of the rosy little bundle in the cradle upstairs. Such a time seemed incredibly remote to me at the moment, but I understood Edward's point. "Not eighteen, my dear?"

"Twenty-one," he repeated firmly. "I am quite certain you would raise our son to be a sensible, honorable man…"

"Thank you," I interjected with a smile.

"But," my master continued, "there is a world of experience for a young man between eighteen and twenty-one. I would rather he not take on the full burden until he reaches a more mature age."

"I see. I think that is an eminently sensible plan."

"My hope is that such a plan will be moot, as I intend to be present while my son grows up. In which case he can perhaps assume management of some part of the estates as soon as we agree he is ready, regardless of his age. Now, the other matter, Jane, is what you would like done with your five thousand pounds."

I had nearly forgotten about my inheritance. Edward did not let me use it, and so it sat in investments in London, still untouched.

"I had not really thought about it, Edward. I suppose it should go to James as well, but…actually, I had rather thought I might give some portion of it to Adele."

He raised his brows. "To Adele?"

"Well, yes. Oh, do not mistake me—I have no doubt you will continue to provide for her as long as need be. But I know from experience that a young woman does not like to be beholden to others for her survival. Nor do I want to see Adele forced to work if she does not wish to do so. I think perhaps a small sum, set aside for her until she reaches a certain age, would do a great deal to help her feel more secure in the world."

Edward was thoughtful for a long moment.

"Well, Jane," he said finally, "if that is really what you believe you want to do, I shall not say no."

"Good. What would you think of a thousand pounds?"

His brows shot back up again. "A thousand pounds?"

"When she turns twenty-one. Oh," I held up a hand, "I know if she were to have it now of course she would likely spend it all rather recklessly. But I am quite certain that Adele at twenty-one shall be quite a more responsible creature. And I shall do the same for James." I was feeling more confident in my decision every moment. "That is exactly what I should like to do, Edward."

"I might suggest you arrange it so she shall have the money when she turns twenty-one or when she marries, whichever happens first. If she marries young she may have need of it sooner rather than later."

"I rather hope she does not marry too young, but again, that is a very sensible suggestion, Edward." I smiled. "And we shall make the same arrangements for any other children we have."

"Your inheritance will provide for Adele, James, and three more. But what if we have four more? Or five more? What then, my Janet?"

I could tell by the twinkle in his eye he was teasing me again, but I did not rise to the occasion. Instead I stood.

"Bite your tongue, Mr. Rochester," I said, and graciously sailed out of the room.

¶

We waited until the end of May to have James christened. In part this was a purely practical matter, as April was as miserable and blustery as March had been and I did not want to take the baby out in bad weather. But I also wanted to wait until Adele was home from school for the summer, so she, too, could attend.

And so it was on a very fine day, the last day in May, as it happens, that I dressed my baby in his new white gown and the whole Atherton family, including Mrs. Fairfax, Maria, and John, went into Dovecote for the service.

Captain and Mrs. Spencer had been most gratified at our request they stand as godparents, and James behaved himself beautifully in Mrs. Spencer's arms at the font. He only squealed once when the cool water rushed over his little head, but he soon recovered his good humour.

Afterwards most of the congregation followed up back to Lansdowne where a hearty luncheon awaited. The men took turns congratulating Edward on getting a son, and the ladies followed me about with suggestions for the proper upbringing of the baby.

Adele, I am proud to say, did her best to ignore Chauncey Wheeler, even refusing to go outside to play with the boys so she could remain at my side. She loved James with all the tenderness in her young heart, and was ever ready to cuddle or amuse him. He, as guest of honor, was content to lie back like a tiny pasha and gnaw on the engraved silver rattle that had been his christening gift from his loving godparents.

For me it was the happiest and proudest of days. Adele was thriving, Edward was well, and James was growing larger and stronger every day. In fact, it brought a pang to my heart when I overheard Captain Spencer, with his two rambunctious, growing boys crawling up his legs, advise Edward to enjoy James as much as he could now, while James was still relatively quiet and had to stay where we put him.

I knew Captain Spencer loved his boys and was only joking, but I understood his meaning. James would not be a baby for long; certainly not as long as I, his mother, would like. But it was enough that my family was together. I knew that as James grew Edward would be here to help me raise him. I was confident that, come what may, Edward and I would be able to deal with it as husband and wife and now, for the first time in our lives, as mother and father.


	15. Chapter 15

Ch. 15

That was a golden summer.

James grew stout and strong. Adele ran and sang and showed off how much she had learned at school. I was particularly proud of her latest embroidery and her paintings.

Even the weather was exceptionally fine.

In August Edward and I hosted our first social gathering since James' birth. We gave a dinner in honor of Chauncey Wheeler's departure. The young man had now turned sixteen. As his brothers had promised he was to sail from Portsmouth to Gibraltar. There he would join his brother Kinsey and sail to the Far East. James of course was too young to attend, as were Nicholas and Caleb Spencer, but I gave special permission for Adele to stay up past her bedtime so she could be there.

All of our neighbors—the Whites, the Langs, the Buntings, and of course Captain and Mrs. Spencer—were there. Maria prepared a special dinner, and afterwards there were many toasts to the young man's health and happiness.

As a parting gift, Edward and I had chosen a fine gold chain to accompany the new pocket watch Chauncey's sister had given him. The young man had just opened it and expressed his pleasure and surprise when I saw Adele slip from the parlour.

I followed her and found her sitting on the stairs, heedless of her new blue dress. Her dark head was buried in her folded arms.

She had been behaving beautifully all summer. Clearly she had taken my conversation with her the previous spring to heart. She had not given Master Chauncey so much as an extra ounce of her attention. But clearly her feelings for him had not changed.

I sat down beside her and gave her my handkerchief.

"It is all right to be sad, Adele. It is always sad when we are parted from someone we care about."

The child lifted her head and snuffled loudly. "I am sorry, Madame."

I placed my arm about her.

"We must endeavor to be happy for him," I counseled. "He has talked of nothing else all summer. Think how happy he will be, out on the open seas again."

Adele sniffed again. "I know. I am happy for him. But I am sad, because I shall miss him so."

"I know, my dear one. I know. But you will see Chauncey again some day."

She brightened a bit. "Do you really think so?"

"Of course. He has a wide circle of family and friends here. He will not stay away forever." I patted her arm. "Now come back inside and give Chauncey your regards before you go up to bed."

Adele nodded, and, brave little soul that she was, did as I bade. She marched right up to the tall boy and gave him her own best wishes. He nodded politely.

Quick as a wink she stood on her toes and give him the fastest of pecks on the cheek. Blushing scarlet, she then hurried from the room.

Chauncey himself turned pink, but the adults in the room only laughed.

Edward looked at me questioningly. I just shook my head.

"I fear all this attention shall go to my brother's head," Catherine said as she came to stand next to me.

She had seemed a bit out of sorts all evening. I led her over to the fireplace where we might speak more privately.

"You must be very sad, Catherine. You have been like a second mother to that boy."

"Oh, I shall miss him, of course. But this is what he wants. And I trust Kinsey shall return him to me in one piece." Her gaze grew distant. "I'm afraid it is another separation that troubles me."

I understood in a trice. "The Captain?"

"He received his orders from London this morning," she said softly. "He asked me not to say anything tonight so we did not spoil Chauncey's party."

The Captain had been home for over a year. He talked often of going back to sea, but I knew the parting would be a bitter one for Catherine. She would be alone with her two boys again, and this time without her brother for comfort.

"Do you know how long he will be gone?"

"Six months," she said flatly. "Perhaps longer."

I squeezed her hand in my own. "Do not worry, Catherine. The Captain has been gone that long before, and you know Edward and I shall be just over the hill if you need us."

"I know, Jane, and I do appreciate it. But it feels…different this time. I've had him home for all these months." She tried to smile. "I've grown used to him, that is all."

I laughed, and a moment later she did as well.

"I am being silly, I know."

"Nonsense," I consoled. "Any wife would feel the way you do."

"I am resolved to think on it no more," she stoutly declared. "This is Chauncey's evening."

And so we returned to the others, and continued our happy celebration long into the night.

¶

One fine day, perhaps a fortnight after Chauncey's departure, my little family and I were in the garden. Adele was attempting a watercolor of the lush green trees, and Edward, the baby, and I sat on a blanket enjoying the sun. Autumn would soon be full upon us, and I was determined to enjoy the last days of this glorious summer.

Edward and James had just invented a new game. It involved Edward moving James' toy rabbit a few inches away from him. James would then carefully push himself up onto his chubby knees and quickly crawl after it, crowing with joy at his newfound mobility. After a few minutes James lost interest in the toy, and the game began again.

It brought a lump to my throat to see James' first efforts at crawling. It seemed like only yesterday he had been a tiny newborn. Soon he would be walking, and then…

I looked up to see Mrs. Fairfax striding across the lawn.

"Beggin' you pardon, Mr. Rochester, Mrs. Rochester. Mrs. Spencer is here to see you."

"She and the Captain made excellent time back from London," Edward observed idly.

"Please ask her to join us," I told her, picking James up before he crawled off the blanket entirely. He squealed in protest for a moment, but quickly settled down in my arms. Thankfully, although James was the image of his father, he was not nearly as stubborn.

Mrs. Spencer arrived, sat down, and held her arms wide for her godson. She kissed James soundly.

We exchanged a few pleasantries. The journey to Portsmouth had been an excellent one, with Chauncey in high spirits and the roads perfectly dry. Captain and Mrs. Spencer had entrusted the boy to the care of one of the Captain's brother officers for the first leg of his journey, and both felt confident in their choice.

"Actually, it is on another matter entirely I have come today," Mrs. Spencer explained. "The Captain and I shall be having a house party, the week after next. We do hope you will come. All of you," she added when she saw Adele's excited expression.

"But, my dear Catherine, will that not be too much work for you? Surely you shall be busy preparing for the Captain's departure."

"Jane is right. Perhaps a smaller dinner party?" Edward suggested.

But Mrs. Spencer shook her head. "No, I am afraid a house party it must be."

Edward and I exchanged puzzled glances, but our friend did not keep us in suspense long.

"You see, no sooner had we returned from London then we found a letter from the Earl waiting. Evidently he got wind that the Captain was to be leaving again soon, and he insisted on a visit beforehand. He rather," Catherine looked thoughtful, "well, I daresay he rather invited himself, but in such a gracious way I could scarce refuse him."

I had nearly forgotten about the Captain's brother, the seldom spoken of Edmund Spencer, Earl of Strathclyde.

Mrs. Spencer had begun plucking at the blades of grass next to her. "After all, as I told the Captain, he has not seen the Earl in years, not since just after we were married. The Earl has never seen either of our sons." She could not meet either Edward's or my own eyes as she spoke.

Edward nodded sagely. "And you are having other families down as well? The Whites, perhaps?"

"Oh, all our neighbors. And a friend of the Captain's who was many years his first lieutenant on the _Hastings_. There shall be games and sport and a ball in my brother Spencer's honour."

"It sounds lovely," I said, determined to sound cheerful for my friend's sake. "My cousin Diana Rivers is expected here at Atherton that week for a visit."

Catherine's face fell instantly. "Oh, dear me, of course if you have family coming…"

"Nonsense. I am sure Diana should love a house party," I said firmly, determined not to disappoint my friend. "With your permission, she shall accompany us to Lansdowne."

"Oh, of course," Catherine breathed relievedly. "We shall be happy to have her."

"Then it is settled." I nodded firmly.

But later that day, as Edward and I were in the nursery laying James down for his nap, I could not help but remark on the Earl's presumption in inviting himself to –shire.

"I imagine an Earl is used to going where he pleases whenever he pleases," I said softly as I drew the covers over the baby.

James was sucking on his fist, a sure sign his morning's play had worn him out. But he was struggling to keep his dark eyes open as long as he could. It was a battle we fought every day. I usually won.

"The Earl did so because he knew perfectly well it was the only way he'd ever be invited to Lansdowne," Edward answered.

He was also keeping his voice soft, and he began to gently rock James' cradle with the toe of his boot. Our nursemaid, Sarah, was of course still with us, but Edward and I cherished these small moments when we cared for our son by ourselves.

"Has the Captain ever spoken of his brother to you?"

Edward shrugged. "Very little. I know there is some ten years between them. To hear the Captain tell it they have not seen eye to eye on anything since the day they were born."

"That is rather sad." I reached down and smoothed James' dark hair away from his round face. His eyes popped open again, but only for a moment.

"Blood connection does not ensure compatibility of temperament, Jane. Some siblings are as different as chalk and cheese, and there is nothing one can do about it."

"Then I fear it shall not be a very pleasant party."

"No, I expect not. But that is exactly why we have been invited. With a house full of people it shall be easier for the Captain to avoid the Earl. If he is very careful, he may be able to pass an entire day without spending more than a few moments in his brother's company."

"We shall do our best," I vowed.

James' fingers had finally slipped from his rosy mouth, and he was breathing deeply.

Edward and I quietly left the room.

Another small battle won.


End file.
